Wacky Peacemaking

The Ten Commandments of Peacemaking ...

2012-01-05T05:25:00.000-08:00

We Need Not Break Them

I am not a rule maker. Instead, I break them all the time. Love your enemies. Who can do that? Okay, I'm working on it because I now understand what it means. So can you. Over the next week, I will be posting the 10 Commandments of Wacky Peacemaking on Facebook. Interested? Need your feedback. Check back on the 11th and find them all right here. In the meantime, be crazy and go make peace.

P.K. McCary, Your Wacky Peacemaker

The Hard Conversations

2011-08-05T13:07:00.000-07:00

"Your silence will not protect you ... for we have been socialized to respect fear
more than our needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for
that final language of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us."

--Audre Lorde

Don't rock the boat. That is a euphemism that I started hearing (not always in those terms) when I first got interested in politics. When I was 14, Dr. King was killed. He had been in Houston a few months before, coming with Joan Baez and Aretha Frankin, and was told by the Black community, no less, that we (meaning Black Houstonians) did not need him and his ilk rocking the boat. So, when I got to school that Tuesday morning, April 5th, I noticed that every Black student was sitting in the cafeteria. Some were crying.
   "What's going on," I asked a friend.
   "Don't you know? They killed Dr. King."
   I hadn't heard. I usually left school earlier than my parents, walking the mile and half by myself. I loved to get to the library and get some studying in and then I would work in the office, a reward for those students who did well in school.
    "But why are you sitting out here?" I inquired, shocked by the news. And I was told that they would continue to sit there in the cafeteria until the principal lowered the flag to half-mast. They were told by the secretary that if they were not in class by the time the bell rang, they would all be expelled. They were ready to be expelled. I sat with them, asking if anyone had talked directly to the principal. No one had, so I thought that I would try. I liked the principal. He liked me. I went immediately to his office, no problem from the secretary. She liked me, too.
Principal Herring was, I considered, a pretty fair man. However, I didn't consider every teacher at Madison fair and some of the parents were out and out racist, not wanting black people in their neighborhoods or schools--it was a time of white flight. I remember that my math teacher would offer me no assistance in class because your people don't have an aptitude for math. It wasn't until my father, a math professor at Texas Southern University, came and had a talk with him, that the myth was dispelled or maybe not dispelled. I was often seen as the exception to the rule I realized. But, I digress--admittedly, very easy to do.
    So, I told the principal that I had just come from the cafeteria and asked him if he knew that Dr. King was killed the evening before. He did, but didn't know what that had to do with him. I said that Lyndon B. Johnson, a Native Texan and President of the United States, had decreed it and that it would honor the work of Dr. King who meant so much to all of us. He listened. I really thought he listened. And then he asked, "Can you get your friends to go to class?" The bell had rung. I said that I could. He stood up and ushered me outside. His parting words were, "I will handle it."
    I ran back to my classmates and told them that he would lower the flag. We went to the first class, but when we came outside to see the flag, it was gone. No flag at half-mast. No flag at all. Everyone turned to me. Go back and tell him this is unacceptable. Don't just stand there, do something. Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. I said nothing. My friends walked away from me. I thought you were so important. Told you that they don't care about us. I called my mother and asked to be picked up. For two days I stayed away from school. Too ill, too upset, to understand. I finished my 10th grade year at Madison, but never went back after that. My political life, however, began.
     I want to know why. I will never understand all of the whys of Herring's decision. Interestingly, I told this story to a white friend, and she said, "Maybe it was the only thing he could do." It is a statement I did not accept, but today, maybe I should try and understand. We were less than 2% of the school population. Who was the principal going to listen to? It certainly wasn't us. It became the beginning of my political aspirations, to understand and to yes, gain some power. I started asking questions I never asked before. I didn't sit on the sideline any longer of the civil rights movement. I became a participant. History became very important to me--not just to pass a test, but to analyze and understand.
     Although I could not vote, I attended every after election and civic club meeting in my neighborhood. I went to a predominantly black high school and I was involved. My first real campaign came when students at Prairie View A&M University, an historical black college were not allowed to vote even after verifying residency. I spoke at the Texas Democratic Convention while only 16, but my voice was clear and my purpose sure.
    But I learned some hard lessons; that the don't rock the boat philosophy didn't just come from the supposed opposition. Sometimes it came from within our ranks. Those individuals whose purpose was my own, were often the voice of the be quiet and not yet. Sometimes it was men pushing the women to step back. It certainly happened to the younger people and after I got the right to vote and could become a delegate, I was often seen and not heard. I realized that don't rock the boat is used mostly by those in power or authority as a way to quell what might be more than righteous indignation. To quell the voices of those who might have a legitimate gripe--no, not gripe, truly suffering from injustices and it has never set well with me.
     Don't worry about the poor. They will always be among us.
   Health care? We'll end up paying for illegal immigrants.
   You can't possibly understand the Middle East conflict. Trust us.
   Let's put the discussion off until next month. Oh, has it been a year already?
   There will be peace in areas of conflict--but who get to define it?
Politics became defined as concessions and often the people making the concessions were the ones least able to afford them. Someone always knew better and the trust me bellowing of politicians became an irritation. By the time I was 30 or so, I pretty much decided that politics was not for me. Instead, I would become an activist, seeking ways to strengthen the areas of society where I could, technically, rock the boat. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
     But I learned. Or am learning. Politics are everywhere in every structure throughout the world. After a while the strategists and the manipulators become one-in-the-same and what was ethical and what wasn't blurred. As I sit on board after board, as a citizen with one vote, and as friend and mentor to those who are being told don't rock the boat, I have an obligation to do just that. Those rules of safe boat navigation require someone at the helm and rocking the boat of injustice means capsizing it, disabling it. But, there is a next step. The next step is called righting. We cannot allow injustice to sail unabated. It will take due diligence on our part to acknowledge that is time to rock the boat and to do it so that Freedom rings. Rhetoric this is not. This is a challenge. I challenge you to analyze your commitment to a better world. I ask you to question your commitment to real peacemaking, standing up for what is right and just--in every segment of society, for every cause. Always.
     Peace? Rock the boat.

WASHINGTON NEEDS ...

2011-08-02T11:52:00.000-07:00

Yes, they do!

The last few months, we have seen so much pontificating and grandstanding that I thought I was in a 1950s revival led by snake oil salesmen. And, yes, it was mostly the men--but there were a few women (can you say Michelle B.) who tried to make us believe that they actually care about Americans. Instead, they, along with Fix News and their lineup of No News anchors and talk show hosts, show us that it is time for some adult supervision in Washington. That means, fellow Americans, that we must step up to the plate and DEMAND that they stop acting like spoiled children, wanting their way and throwing those political proverbial tantrums that continue to put us all at risk. And--that if they don't, we will send them home! It means that we must stop letting them divide us along racial, political, and social lines. Okay, I'm a liberal, mostly moderate but other times flaming, and you may be a conservative, sometimes unrelentingly so--but we can agree that our country is in trouble, that we need jobs and that it is not the fault of this President, but that we all must step up to the plate and take some responsibility.
     I want to talk about the deal that was made on yesterday. I wasn't happy with it--no one was, but sometimes we don't get exactly what we want. However, we can do something different than we've done before. We can stop pointing the fingers across the aisles of our political leanings and think like citizens of one Nation. We can cease this talk of civil war and find ways--there are many of them--to lead instead of being led. We can stop preaching our rhetoric to the choir (those who agree with us) and figure out ways in which we can dialogue across those areas of discontent. We are grownups after all and if we aren't, we should grow up!
    We cannot change the fact that we spent money that we did not have for two ill-advised wars, and we cannot undo the decisions we have already made. We can however, rethink our decisions concerning Libya, for instance. We have time to stop and think and not make it as costly or time consuming by putting the brakes on now--but that's for another blog. We can look at what it will take to make a healthier and more prosperous America and utilize our resourcefulness to think outside the proverbial box and get busy using our creativity and ingenuity. We can insist that these guys keep their commitments to ALL Americans and not the select few that help them continue to support corporate greed and avarice, trying to fool us into thinking that the "rich" are job creators. We have to stop buying into the rhetoric and be a little like Don Lemon of CNN, who got tired of having our politicians, across all political spheres--Democrats, Republicans, Tea Partyers and others, respond to questions with talking points, instead of with the truth and candor. They can't help it though, because they quit talking straight many moons ago. It is the quip, the one-liners that stir people's passion instead of hard hitting straight talk. Just once I would like to see a politician NOT defend his view, but candidly assess his or her own culpability in the current situation we find ourselves in.
     I believe the President did and does that. From the very beginning of his term, he wanted to work together. But truth is he came in at the end of an era. His first term started at the bottom of the ninth, with two outs and him up to bat. He's not gotten a hit, not really, because the throws have been high and outside. There are those who would rather not put it across the plate because Obama might just hit is out of the park! Okay, I'm not that good with sports metaphors, but it just seems that Obama came in with the deck stacked against him. Before anyone thinks we should give Obama a pass, we should not. He signed up for this and we have a right to analyze, but we should also serve by not taking sides, but urging all of our politicians to do what is right and stop pitting us against each other. Perhaps if the American people would cross the aisles themselves, we could be a force to be reckoned in. If don't do that, we all will lose.

Ain't It Funny?

2011-07-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

No. It Ain't!

I keep trying to get the joke. It must be a joke, right? It has to be because no one in this group of idiots can continue to think that we're that stupid. Right? Right? I'm a little frustrated here because I'm not getting any response from you. Sigh.
   Okay. I get it. It doesn't take rocket science to know that people must not be paying attention because if they were, we'd be taking it to the streets. Then that's just me. I've been looking for work in California for two years. Oh, I get a few hits every once in a while. People rave about my experience, but they just aren't hiring. So, where are all these rich guys who are getting tax breaks filling up the want ads sections of newspapers with job offers? Because they ain't. They weren't and they never will.
     All across the globe those 2% of the populace have held sway over everything that happens to us. They control 80-90% of the resources of this world and realize that they can't feed us all if they get to keep anything for themselves. So they don't and those who say or think otherwise, I got a bridge in Timbuktu I'd like to sell you--at a really low rate--say 4 or 5 trillion dollars. Just send the check to THINK PEACE INTERNATIONAL.
    Ain't it funny?
Peace?
    No!? You tell me.

Wacky Peacemaking at Graduations and Weddings

2011-06-08T19:08:00.000-07:00

Malik (my oldest), Eryon (Baby Girl), ME, Andrew (my nephew) and Jarian (Baby Boy)

Weddings and Graduations--A Family Affair

I have been spending a great deal of my time traveling back and forth between California and Texas. I have missed my family and truthfully, they have missed me. So, this weekend I felt like I got a couple of two-fers--you know--2 for the price of 1. One ticket. Two major events that are designed to make you happy and understand that time passes forward, ready or not.

A Graduation--Look out world, here they come ...

My 18-year old nephew graduated from high school this past Saturday and his class was the largest graduating class in the history of his school. Waiting patiently, I listened to a great Valedictorian speech from this really beautiful senior. She talked about futures, but also inspired people to live in the now. Wow, such wisdom. It was heartwarming. I put up with the principle's efforts to inspire, but the true inspiration: those young people! Lately I have reflected on the future with our young people and realized how hopeful I am. Of course, I work with young people on a regular basis. Yes! On purpose. I like being around them. Babies, oh yeah. But teens and young adults keep me sane. When I hear about kids acting up, I think--why the hell shouldn't they? If I knew the world that I was inheriting 40 plus years ago, perhaps I would have rebelled more myself. I still believed that hard work was its own reward, that merit had value, and doing your best got you fame and fortune. Okay, not exactly fame and not exactly fortune. I just believed that there was an outcome that was measurable by the hard work.

Aunt P.K. and her neice, Chance

Then reality--or the alternate reality--set up shop in my living room. Know what I found out? Life ain't fair and equity is a dream. However, you guys know me! I'm the wacky peacemaker and I'm crazy enough to believe that while not always fair or equitable, justice will prevail. In the end, we all pay the piper and life goes forward. So, weddings--meet my new niece-in-law--are a way to unite families and remember our vows, those kept and yes, those not kept. We are given a vicarious second chance at weddings. All I know is that it brings out the hope of life, a knowing that we must still take chances with one another and for another.
This wedding, however, was about coming full circle. They had the wedding at this fabulous interfaith chapel called The Rothko Chapel. I was once program director and I had loved the job. It felt like something I had been called to and everyone I know was introduced to the Chapel with programs and events that helped to bridge those areas of discord, and of unknowing. When I learned that my nephew was having his wedding there, I was happy that something I introduced to them long ago was remembered. For all the reasons of family and sharing, love and hope--this was our chance and so was she.

Fear Erases Hope

2011-05-30T13:36:00.000-07:00

ERASE THE

All of it!

When I was a little girl, 5 or 6, I lived in New Mexico. There were a few whites and even fewer blacks, but there was a huge Latino population. I remember in the first grade, translating for my friend who didn't speak English so that she would understand the instruction our teacher was giving to the class. The teacher it seems resented that girl who couldn't speak English well was in the class and ignored her. So, I helped her with her homework after school, too.
     I was privileged, only I didn't know what that was then, but looking back I can see it. I had my own Chevy pedal car and a playhouse made of bricks. My father owned a construction company and hired people, mostly blacks and Latinos and I played with the children of those workers. All the children came to our property. My father and mother encouraged it. In fact, my father built the first cinder block home down in the valley area, different from the small adobe homes that dotted the landscape. However, I also entered another world--obviously different. In the mountains were better homes than the ones in Alamogordo with patios that went around the house, near springs and much, much cooler than down where we lived. I played with those children as well, never really understanding that I was considered special and different or even that I was different. Children were children to me. My parents had a diverse group of friends. I didn't know that I was probably the token black girl being allowed into those small, all-white communities. I simply lived my life. I was fairly happy.
   I know now that my father moved us to New Mexico because he was looking for a haven different than the one he grew up in. He had wanted to give us--my sisters and brothers--an opportunity to be considered equal and I guess I did. My first boyfriend was blond and blue eyes, not because he was white, but because he was the only boy as tall as I. No one said, "You can't have a white boyfriend!" More, just like other girls, he was my boyfriend because I decreed it and he didn't know it. But, I digress. The reason for this part of the story is that I had no color fears, no race fears. I didn't stop to think if I was better or inferior. I was a kid with other kids. I never heard the word "nigger"--not once in my early years and it wasn't until I was about 8 or so when I read the word for the first time and asked my parents about it, that I knew it was a word that denigrated the Negro, who I knew myself to be.
   From there we went to live in Oklahoma for a couple of years when my father went back to teach math at a historical black college (Langston University). I was 8 and the joy of it was having teachers who looked like me (which I didn't have in New Mexico). I think it was here that I started realizing some fundamental differences about race. I was always liked by my teachers. I was a good student. My first and second grade teachers were white. I don't remember the first grade teacher's name, but I thought her mean. I realize now that she was a bigot, treating the Mexican kids differently and with disdain. I didn't know what that was then. I just felt protective of my brown-skinned friends who were hurt by her insensitivity. I didn't know it for what it was. Mrs. Sharp, who I do remember, was my second grade teacher and I liked her because she was tall. I think there was a kinship between us, but again, she treated the Mexican kids pretty bad.
     I didn't understand any of this until I was being taught by black teachers. There was definitely a difference in their nurturing of learning and because of them I wanted to teach. There was discipline, true, which I believe both my first and second grade teachers were adept at doling out, but there was a genuine caring that comes from teachers who love not only their work, but their students. Still, it wasn't until I was fourteen and living in Houston that realities slammed into my consciousness about those subtle differences and it was perhaps here that these incidents chipped away at that place that there was a fairness that was for all. Fear took hold in subtle forms that I must now acknowledge and erase.
     I got called "nigger" my first day of school entering the 10th grade. It wasn't just that this white student called me that word in a dining room full of people, but that not one teacher took him by his ear and told him that it was unacceptable. I handled it. I mean, I knew I wasn't what he called me--and I knew even then that it was his ignorance, yet no one came to my rescue. No one stopped him. My courage was in full force as I said to the table of white girls I was sitting with, "Perhaps if we move real slow to the left, we can leave whatever he is talking about here." There was relief, even a few giggles. The sister of the boy glared at her brother and walked away with me. I won! Didn't think much about it until the other incidents. A teacher letting me know that "you people don't have an aptitude for math" as an excuse for not answering my questions or helping me with the assignments. There was the UIL competition where I, a good singer, practiced for weeks with the best pianist only to be told the day of the competition that she would not be accompanying me because her father forbade her playing for "that nigger"--(Sharon cried that day, she was so upset) and, of course, the day after Dr. King died when the principal of the school refused to fly the flag at half-mast as ordered by President Lyndon Johnson. I handled them all. But, my armor was being chipped away very slowly--imperceptibly so.
     I demanded that my father allow me to attend a predominantly black school near the campus. There I was nurtured by teachers and counselors who had my best interest at heart and I was exposed to art and literature on a major college campus, something my father bestowed on my for more than two decades after we left New Mexico. But, my father was smart. He also made sure that I still competed and learned in environments where I was the only black person--the one they let in. He felt that it made me more well-rounded and it did. I excelled in competitions of debate and other learning endeavors. I was a so-so athlete, refusing to be a jock when I had a good brain. And I thought there was hope and that the work of those in the Civil Rights movement was paying off. I never had to look for a job, people came to me, and I would tell my Black friends that we were making strides overcoming the racist mentality of those who would blow up a church or sic dogs on marchers. I was wrong. That same structure these days exist like never before, and this time armed with intellectual mumbo-jumbo rather than bullets or bombs. The rhetoric is just as dangerous. While I consider myself a chipped vessel, I know that it in no ways compares to the kinds of attacks on little brown and black boys and girls who are being targeted for prison as we speak (http://www.childrensdefense.org/programs-campaigns/cradle-to-prison-pipeline/) where "1 in 3 Black and 1 in 6 Latino boys born in 2001 are at risk of imprisonment during their lifetime. While boys are five times as likely to be incarcerated as girls, there also is a significant number of girls in the juvenile justice system. This rate of incarceration is endangering children at younger and younger ages." That's just one aspect of this structure, but also these days, merit is becoming a far removed advantage for people of color. Doesn't matter if you're the best anymore and for us we know that it never was the case. Maybe one or two, but the odds are against people of color still. STILL?
     This could strike fear into the hearts of many, but the truth is that the fear is more invasive as what this type of fear does is erode hope! You have a whole new generation who thinks that being the best rapper or playing the best ball will help them overcome. For those who do, where does it benefit the communities. The disparities are to be overcome, but it will take some new thinking.
     Psychology Today and the death of Gil Scott Heron has brought some reflection time on my part. I know that dialogue is a weapon against imperialism when people come together for genuine dialogue and conversation, but I also know that the venues for these discussions are limited. Social networking is bringing about a change, but I have to believe that until we can create a type of parallel universe in answer to this structure that refuses to topple. Oh, there are some bandaid fixes, but the need for invasive surgery is at an all time high. There are not enough Tim Wises and Robert Jensons to topple these structures and perhaps they can never be toppled. Instead, we must build the better structures, the better vehicle for peacemaking and equality, the better structures for addressing injustices. New Media. New Institutions. New policymaking organizations, strengthening the ones we have, but building, building, more. I decided that fear is not an option anymore and so I am going to build that better structure. For me it is media: Think Peace Media and Communications Network. After working in media for more than a few years, I realize that I am equipped to develop better programming. There are ways to facilitate peacemaking, peacebuilding and peacekeeping--parts of the whole, creating and designing, implementing and making it work!
     There is one answer to fear and that is hope--because hope does not disappoint. Remember that and join me in building new structures for our future. What structure will you build?
     Peace.

The Past is a Place to Visit

2011-05-08T13:52:00.000-07:00

The Past, Present and Future

Once upon a time there was a place that held the past in its present waiting for its future.

One of my writing students wrote about a place. He described it brilliantly. Then he got stuck. Where was this place? What was its time? The grass was green, the breeze was light and yet it was a hot day. A time, yes. And also a place. But, the minute he wrote about it—described it, the present story became the past. The period at the end of the sentence. The Past. But the story? Somewhere between the first word and the last. Lots of periods, though.

Funny thing about the past. Oddly enough it is always there. Its presence is not always consciously acknowledged. In other words, we are not always aware of it and yet its influence is ever present. Get it? In some ways I believe that our past and present are so tightly interwoven that we are locked between them. Which means—there isn’t a clear future, stuck as we are.

Some would say that we can’t move forward until we acknowledge our past, but we do move forward every day. What we don’t do is move past the past. Without a clear understanding it is said that we are doomed to repeat the past and it seems, without fail, we relive the past over and over again.

I am a peacekeeper and it seems that I can be nothing else. I see sorrow and have to address it. I can’t ignore it nor can I dismiss it. However, I do find that I have a somewhat objective stance towards the sorrow in that I have to look at from every aspect, every angle. The sorrow comes from some place and that place is usually rooted in the past.

The problem with trying to understand a particular area of the past is that sometimes you weren’t there. It wasn’t your reality or your story. It was, instead, something that happened and the effects are seen in the present—seven generations out will reap either the benefits or the consequences of that moment. It pays to know about the past. Like any story, however, the narrator gets to tell it. The thing about stories is that if there is more than one person affected in it, the results become a plethora of stories seen through the lenses of those who were there. Not all get to tell the story either, so the story takes on selective meaning. Therein, says Shakespeare, lies the rub.

I can’t forgive what I don’t understand—or can I? The idea of moving forward requires some peculiar and unusual processes because if truth be told, we just don’t know it all. The past looms over us because the whole story is not told and sometimes lost so as to never be told. But, I don’t believe that—not exactly.

The first time I went to Atlanta I drove. I had my children with me and they were sleep when I past through Mississippi and later through Alabama. As I reached the border of Alabama the sun was coming up. Its rays were extraordinarily subtle—twilight with a touch of color. The rays landed across a lush green valley of trees where kudzu twined up to the sky. I thought it was beautiful, but then an overwhelming sorrow took over. I didn’t just start crying, I was sobbing. Wracking sobs that made me think that my heart would break. I had to pull over because I hadn’t been sad until that moment and yet the grief was overwhelming and I could not stop, nor did I understand why. Frightening. It took until the sun was fully ablaze that my sobs stopped and I could drive again.

What was it?

It was a couple of years later that I understood what happened to me. At some juncture of my drive, I passed through the past. That wonderful and beautiful sight of greenery and a beautiful sunrise that greeted me was also a time when some black woman was finding the charred remains of her husband, brother or son. I believe that at that moment the bloody soil of Alabama spoke to me. I can’t prove it, but I can tell you that I believe it without question. I know because as I learned the stories of that place from people I got to know later that year, it seems that the dry bones did and do cry out.

Did you know that kudzu is a weed and that it literally chokes the life out of other plants? It is beautiful, though. And I know that I can never think of that beautiful plant without feeling the heartbreak of some person grieving and the injustices that never saw the light of day. I can, however, show mercy and now I know when those times come upon me, when I don’t understand or know the story, I can stop and pray, stop and listen/acknowledge that moment, whatever the complete story is and ask for peace on that spot or land.

I now know why those moments come and they have come to me in Brazil, India, S. Korea and the Caribbean and other places as well, that I stop—give over to the spiritual insight that these moments are times for healing. The grief doesn’t overwhelm me anymore because, after all, I took this job of peacekeeping. Those places of the past beckon to us and we should take time to visit them in our present in order to strengthen our future.

Peace.

Are You a Wacky Peacemaker?

2011-04-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

wack· y /ˈwakē/

Adjective: Funny or amusing in a slightly odd or peculiar way: "a wacky chase movie".

peace· mak· er /ˈpēsˌmākər/

Noun: A person who brings about peace, esp. by reconciling differences and injustices.

wack· y peace· mak· er /ˈwakē pēsˌmākər/

Noun: A person who brings about peace in funny, amusing or in slightly odd or

peculiar ways to build cultures of peace, justice and healing for the planet.

Then wear this shirt with pride!

Peacemakers are a peculiar people--all of us. We have our dreams and aspirations. That's good. We have warts, too, which makes us imperfect. That's okay, too. However, truth be told--we are works in progress. We have something to aspire to and I think it is going to take some creative measures to assure that our dreams and aspirations of peace are such that we can all live in this world together. The time is now.

Quotes of Wacky Peacemakers

In December of 2009, I found myself feeling more than a little frustrated. Part of it has to do with my own dreams and aspirations and feeling like I'm just shy of them--just missing my goal by a hair. I also had a rude awakening during that time, realizing that we don't all work in sync or for the greater good. Oh, we want to--but we are missing some key components in our struggle to get it right. We are creatures of habit and a lot of our habits are not adequately scrutinized. I wish it was a simple matter of good versus evil. That is the least of our worries actually. Evil generally happens when good people do nothing--and we often find ourselves busy doing a lot of nothing these days, failing to acknowledge the problems of the world and failing to acknowledge our culpability in exacerbating those problems. Through our ignorance, our inaction, our prejudices and our own personal foibles. As I said, we are works in progress. Yet--

     I started thinking about the people who have made a difference in the world and I started asking myself why? Why did they make a difference? What was different about what they each did? And I realized that it took some wacky notions to think that people could change a region steeped in racism and bigotry--The South! And yet there was a woman who galvanized a movement by refusing to give up her seat in 1955, and there was a man who took it to the streets with the March on Washington in 1963! Wacky, crazy, outrageous! And Courage! It took courage to think outside the box--to believe that somehow, by breaking a law or taking a walk--and change the world. As John Lennon sings, "All we are saying is give peace a chance!"
     We're changing the world each day. That's a given. Some of it changes because people are just crazy enough not to buy into the hype that they have to be afraid of someone who doesn't look like them or believe like them. As we search our own hearts, a gathering is taking place and there are beautiful moments taking place. So, a few friends and I are taking a good look at history--including just yesterday--and finding the stories where the wacky and peacemaking connect! Ready? Set? Let's go!
     Peace.

Call me Crazy ...

2011-04-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

But, I'm in love!

Who wouldn't be? My grandsons met for the first time yesterday. Immediately Taliek (my oldest grandson, turning 7 next week) wanted to hold his cousin. Octavian is this wiggly, sweet 2 month old grandson newly added to our family and we had our reservations, but Taliek had faith he could do it and I sat back and let him hold his cousin and wasn't amazed at his gentleness and his attentiveness to the task. After all, we have guided him to this moment, teaching him to take care of those weaker or younger than himself.
     This is the Easter season. For all who want to know--this is the reason I am Christian. The idea that love is so encompassing that it makes you trust an almost 7-year old to hold such innocence--a love so powerful, that you can see it in this picture. A picture after all is worth a thousand words. How many ways can you say "love"? Let me count the ways.
     We can take today and remember that it is a day to forgive. We should forgive ourselves, our missteps, any pain we bring to another. We should forgive others the same way. The Christ is risen and today serves as a reminder of what that means. Joyfully, we say--"He is risen!" We know that death does not mean the end, but serves as a transcendent movement into another place in life. Today, I ask that you that know me forgive me, but in addition to that forgiveness, I ask for a chance to resolve any issues that may hang. Forgiveness is one of the steps towards reconciliation.
     Week before last, I got a chance to hear Dr. David Hooker at a Restorative Justice event in Oakland, California. Dr. Hooker talked about the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission and its work. He reminded us, however, that while truth telling was present and a necessary component of the process, there was insufficient opportunity for justice. In addition, Hooker explained that there was no peace process in the Commission work that included community engagement and because of that there are still a plethora of problems that still exist, exacerbated by this need to be heard, to find answers in the years of Apartheid that maimed both body and soul of many--the oppressor and the oppressed.
     No justice. No lasting peace.
     Today I ask for lasting peace and I ask for the strength to do this difficult and arduous work that will allow for it. I have had the opportunity to work with many people who have joined the quest for peace, its walk and work. In that time, I think some of my greatest hurts have come from the very place and those very times that are supposed to move us forward. For every step we take forward, there are too many times that we step backwards--fear and ignorance being the main culprit. Sometimes, we just don't know enough and often times, we just don't get it.
     What don't we get? We don't get that some of the things we say are inciteful. We don't get that our insensitivity about race, culture, gender and many other areas of our lives keeps us apart. The disparities within structures of government, communities and in our organizations remain something that keeps us apart. We don't get that the past is woven into our present and holds the future in the balance. If we recognized that today; that we affect 7 generations ahead of us, would we make different choices? The creation of technology is wonderful--but those things break down and our landfills are filled with trash that will never, ever dissolve. Does that mean that we should not "create"? Absolutely not--but we know more now and so, as we create, we have to think of the impact of those decisions on our future.
     Easter for me was its impact on the future--that someone loved me enough--before I was born, a twinkling in my mother's eye, so to speak--to sacrifice his life for me. I hope that I have the will, the strength, the fortitude to do the same. When I look at my grandson's, I think not just of their future, but the future of their children and their children's children--and I know that right now I'm willing to sacrifice my comfort, to not ignore the injustices, not only of the world, but of my own injustices to others--purposeful or not--doesn't matter. Today, I remember the Christ and this one thing, not that he died, but that he rose again.
     What does it teach me? It teaches me that we fall down, but we get up. Today I rise again, in spite of the pain and frustrations and even though I make my own mistakes, I get up today and join in the celebration of Christ rising as a message of hope for all. Peace.

Crazy Moments Like This ...

2011-03-21T17:19:00.000-07:00

If God does crazy well, then we're safe!

Let the crazy stuff begin. What is crazy? After all, I keep saying, "It takes being a little crazy to think that we can make the world a better place." Who else would do it? There's no pension fund after a lifetime of work nor can it always be measured. Or can it? In the 16 years I have been journeying across interfaith lines, meeting and getting to know people a different faith from my own, and it has fueled my need to do what is called interfaith work. It is not only a need, however. It is a calling.
     Who are people of faith? I use to think that the people of faith were Christians. But, I've learned a surprising answer--or answers. I want to preface it first by my own beliefs. I am a disciple of the Christ. I believe that Jesus embodied the Christ and that my goal is to find the Christ in me. There. That's simple. It is not up for debate or discussion. It simply is. That said--that caveat, if you will, is not me feeling apologetic about my beliefs or in some way attempting to assuage my views for another's acceptance. Instead, it is what I think we should all do--share those deeper inner beliefs to be understood. I'm simply saying, "Accept me for who I am."
   Crazy, huh? Yes. My disclosure is one that asks the question--'Can you accept me?' with more inference on 'Can you accept me as I am?' The good news is that I've been looking for a place that can accept me as I am, but also to accept others as they are. I'm going back this Sunday and check this place out. The sign was one of those disclosures, 'Can you accept?' And I want to be able to say 'yes' and at the very the least, I'll give it my best shot!
   Peace.

When You WIsh ...

2011-03-06T22:06:00.000-08:00

It makes no differences who you are--when you make a wish, your wish has the ability to come true. Or does it? Are wishes for some people and not for others? Should I never make a wish since I might not believe that wishes come true. Recently I asked my Wiccan friend, "Do you believe in magic?" Before she answered, I asked her to ask me a comparable question. She asked me, "Do you believe in prayer?" Which surprised me a bit and then our friend said, "I would have asked you if you believed in miracles?" WHICH--again was interesting because I thought that was the question she would ask me because somehow I thought of "magic" and "miracles" as the same thing. When Rachael described miracles, she said that they are something that happen outside of yourself and of which you have no control. She can prove magic, she told me. She wondered if I could prove prayer and I didn't have an answer because I was stuck a bit on wishes and how magic might be a way to make them come true. But, prayer? Hmmmmm.
     So, what is this particular blog about? Magic? Miracles? Wishes? and now "prayer" as the comparable question to magic? Yes--all of the above. Right now things are tough and as I talked with my friends and colleagues, we all have a story to impart about our life's problems. We all end some of our conversations with either wishes, need for miracles and/or magic, and lament that our frustrations and disillusionment and discouragement are real obstacles to overcome. I/We need some magic and I wish my Wiccan friend would unleash her magic and give me what I want, need ... Silly ain't it, but I think not unusual. In the cartoon Luann, Luann's friend Delta asks her if she made a wish when she blew out the candles on her birthday cake. Luann doesn't quite get the question, but admits that she pretends to make a wish because her mind is blank and she doesn't know what to wish for. Me, I have a lot to wish for. I have children. I wish for their happiness. My grandson and granddaughter--their safety. I also wish we would understand each other better and I wish that I didn't have to fight for it happen. I wish that I could have more time to myself and wish I weren't so alone. If only a wish happened because we blew out the candles. Sigh.
   And then I get asked the comparable question. Maybe a wish is as Delta says--not something to happen, but something to aim for. I wish I knew magic. Well, Rachael--that's what friends are for isn't it. And I pray that she teaches me before I'm too old to enjoy it.
     Peace.

Peacemaking Is Not for Sissies

2011-02-04T19:08:00.000-08:00

What is a Sissy, Anyway?

It is 2011, a month gone, and never before have I felt the need to explain the whole idea about what peacemaking is all about. True, there are things we want to change. We want to end poverty and war-mongering-type solutions to our problems between each other and nations. We want a green earth and a healthy society. True, there is nothing wrong with wanting these things. In fact, these are honorable goals, but the truth is that we're never gonna get 'em until people realize that peacemaking is not for sissies. It is hard work and requires diligence and commitment.
     I've been a sissy for a while. They call me the gentle giant. I tend to want to work things out and I really, really, do my best to keep a handle on my anger. Now the reason I'm so angry is that I want to scream and shout and bring the house down, but have been taught--mostly, that as peacemakers, we're supposed to be compassionate, nurturing and nonviolent. So, I've said it before and I'll say it again, "There is not one scripture, secret code, text or other thing that says, 'Thou shall not be angry.'" Sin not. I get that one. Don't let the sun go down on your wrath. That one, too. Not get angry? Well, I'm losing that battle.
     Why, then am I so pissed off? Some of it is what I said above. We are not ending poverty and war-mongering is not a foregone conclusion. Our earth is actually pissed off these days and Mother Nature is no joke. I got Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus--far from healthy--but working on it. Still, insurance is joke these days. It costs too much and no matter how much I pay for it, when I go to the doctor, I get this thing in the mail that says, "oops, sorry, we are only paying this much ..." and so I ask myself, "Just why am I a peacemaker?" I vote. I write my representatives. I am a critical thinker. What's the problem?
     I feel unheard, under-represented, and under-appreciated. I complain. I reflect. I get down and then I try and talk myself out of it, saying, "today's another day" and "I'm gonna rethink the possibilities" and then I say, "What's the use" and "Got put my time into other things" --- and that's just sissy talk. I'm not getting my way, ain't happening fast enough and so I'm ready to chuck it out the window, like the proverbial baby's dirty bath water? What? Now I'm a quitter?
     Yesterday I was getting ready to ride the train from my job and I assumed that my boss would run me to the station. And just before I got ready to go, I learned that I had made an assumption without asking. She was pissed off, especially realizing that I could not get a cab and all I could think of is how can I leave and not make a fool of myself by bursting into tears (actually, I did cry, but I hid it well). Let me tell you something about being a sissy. Know what I should have said? "Well, of course I assumed you were taking me. You did the last time." While I might have apologized for assuming and I admit that I had, it would have been time to talk about reciprocal attitudes. I wanted to ask, "Why are you so pissed about it?" Instead it hangs there and most of it is me, but clearing the air, keeping it real is real peacemaking power. Again, because it hurt my feelings--I sissy-ed up and it changes things.
    Of course, I've turned it over and over in my head and that's just dumb. It's over with. Look for the opening another time. It'll come and I've got to be ready. Truth is that a lot of assumptions go on between most peacemakers these days. When you cover it up, suck it up, you are really sitting on a powder keg that erupts when that person finally does or says something to which I respond, "You really are an idiot." Wrong, wrong, wrong--but mostly these outbursts are based on tiptoeing around the problem and issues to begin with. What did I expect?
     Look, if we're gonna work together, we gotta keep it real. We've got to get it and let it go. First, next time I won't take it so personally. I should have said, "My bad. But, really, did I have to ask for a ride? I would have thought you might have asked me, too? You assumed as well as I did." Now, how do you want to handle things in the future? Make an agreement and stick to it. That's peacemaking. And to the woman I called an idiot --- well, I overstepped. Frustrated and not doing the count-to-ten thing I teach the kids. I will say, however, that my next line of 'do what you have to do' stands. I will respond to the accusations you level with truth. You either accept them or we do the next thing and get others involved. But, I promise not to slash and burn--you, that is, but I won't promise you I won't get angry about it. I promise you that I will, however, be fair! Oh, and no name-calling. That's being a sissy, which I don't intend to be anymore.
     Peace.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2010-12-25T08:25:00.000-08:00

Homelessness in the 21st Century is a Crime

A Christmas Story

Yesterday morning, I went with a young minister to the shelters and day-shelters for the city's homeless. Why do we call them the "City's" when in reality, the City certainly does its best not to claim them. They're rousted from certain areas and are kept on the periphery of society. But, she knew them by name. I gotta tell you, I was humbled by it because I know what it is to not have a place to stay. I'm also ashamed. I know what it is to be homeless, but I've turned a blind eye to it and really it is a crime. We can change the face of homelessness. Truth is--some are.
     Tabitha Ropert-Mitchell is a minister at the Midtown Family Worship Center in Houston. Her church is a food distribution center and is committed to feeding and helping the homeless. Yesterday we passed out hats and gloves, toiletries and this young woman paid for our parking since it was Friday and the meters were not free. Armed with a bag of quarters, she made sure we could get to our task and not fumble for change. She thinks ahead. I like that about her.
     But, here's the real Christmas story. I learned that earlier in Rev. Tabitha's life, she suffered a stroke. It left her with short-term memory and she can often be heard to say, "Now what did I just say?" But, every day, she remembers to do this job. Every day, she puts her own disability aside and thinks of others. God bless her. And, it is my intention to bless her in every way I can.
   At one shelter, which houses women and children, we handed a stripped colored hat to a little girl not more than 5 or 6. With her snaggled-tooth grin, she thanked us. I felt my heart melt. She was mine for an instant. But, that smile made me feel like I handed her the best present she had ever received. As she walked away with her siblings (a 2 year and a child about 9 or 10), she turned back and just smiled.
   Last week, my friend and father of my youngest son, died. He was only 61. One of the places he volunteered for was Lord of the Streets, a place where people can get legal advice (Bobby was an attorney), medical treatment, food and perhaps housing. Up until his struggle with cancer kept his attention elsewhere--living, Bobby went faithfully to Lord of the Streets a couple of days a week. The only way I knew about it was that after my radio program, he asked for a ride. This was about the time that the cancer was taking its toll and I took him there. I wasn't surprised--exactly. As a criminal attorney, he was always helping people. I knew that about him, but this was his work. He just did it.
    Same with another friend. Sister Mama Sonya is not only my friend, but a fellow-storyteller. She and her husband share a birthday and instead of gifts, they always ask for something for others. This year's request was the hat and gloves for men, women and children--and then she collaborated with Rev. Tabitha to give them away. They gathered only about 300-400 hats and gloves and those we gave out yesterday. It wasn't enough. We hope to gather 1,000 the next time. But, I know that is not enough. So, why try? Insane, huh? If it is never enough ...
     Sometimes the best story is the one already told. Loren Eiseley gives us the answer.

The Star Thrower

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
     One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
     As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
     He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"
     The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."
     "I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.
     To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."
     Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"
     At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

We do it because it matters (especially when we don't forget). We do it because we can. I would say, we do it because we should, but I'll let you be the judge. But, just in case you can't, you can help someone who can. Share a roll of quarters with Rev. Tabitha. Her address is 2424 Hamilton, Houston, Texas 77004. Make checks to the Midtown Family Worship Center. Why? It makes a difference. Merry Christmas.

Be Angry, But Sin Not

2010-11-02T11:53:00.000-07:00

Did you Vote?

If you don't, then "You're Not Mad Enough!" I personally think that you have to be crazy to vote today. Now before someone says I'm advocating for staying away from the polls, then you just hit upon one of the problems of this society--especially today. People jump before you even finish talking and then they go off on life's proverbial tangents. And then we're off! Off to disagreeing before we even know what we're arguing about. Off to hating each other before we know who the other is. We're off to the races of discord and disharmony. We're off to a place that doesn't really exist except in our arrogance, bigotry and biases.
   We're way off!
   We say, "We're mad as hell and we say we're not going to take it anymore." Somehow we are all angry. About something. I understand. My first Wacky Peacemaking essay was about being pissed off. And this last year, I've been plenty angry and had plenty to be angry about. Yeah, a lot, in fact. More in the last year then I have been most of my life. I've found little to be joyful about since finding out just how disappointing human experience can be.
   The older I get, the more I realize that I am just a little crazy. Crazy for feeling so blue. Crazy for letting it get to me. The "it" is that we are part of a human family and we act like strangers. The "it" is that our arrogance makes us think that only a certain segment of the population has the answers. The "it" is that we, after centuries, are not evolving into a species that has the capacity to see beyond the violence of our fears and anger and be something better. After all these centuries--millennium--on this planet. (By the way-- I wonder if there are evolved beings elsewhere--but I digress.)
   Crazy!
   Crazy enough to acknowledge and not hide my displeasure. Crazy enough to know that displeasure requires action. Crazy enough to not give up. Crazy enough to finally say something about it all. Crazy enough to take time to listen. Crazy enough to take time to pray and meditate. I'm just crazy enough to write once again that it is time to go crazy. Crazy enough to make a difference in the world.
   Look, lately I've been studying (well, for 3 years now-officially) communication. But, truth is that communication is studied every day of our lives. Here's what I believe. I believe that if we would stop to think before we speak ... and stop after we've spoken to listen ... and listen with an ear towards understanding, true understanding ... if we humble ourselves ... We Will Evolve.

The Value of Money

2010-08-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

What is the value of the human heart?

I am learning a real lesson about money. It goes like something this. Money is a tool. Okay, I get that. Like my computer, which I am finding I cannot do without. Like water to wash my face and gas to drive my car, money is a tool by which we get things done. So, why then do I allow myself to be devalued by the weight of money, which can never be as valuable as the human heart for social justice, taking care of the Earth and its living inhabitants, helping children to learn peaceful ways to co-exist? I'm having to ask myself this question. I don't like the answer.
     The last few years, I put my time, energy and yes, my money, into a show called "The Peace Hour" and the "Think Peace Radio Network" in Houston. I had a good following and good broadcasts. I have to admit, both were incredible ideas borne out of the need to share what its meant to build cultures of peace, justice and healing. The Peace Hour is my baby! I loved talking with people from the Children's Defense Fund or young people about the Obama phenomenon. We had a spirited debate about religion when writer Robert Jensen was branded a heretic and asked to leave a church (not by the congregants or the pastor, by the way) and we talked about nonviolence in all of its forms. One of my favorite interviews was with Willard Wiggins, an artist who sculpts really, really -- I mean, REALLY small objects. They could be placed on the head of a pin. Another of my favorite interviews was with Reed Gandhour, a then 14-year old who had interviewed one of the Muslim founders of UMMA Clinic in Los Angeles. Leaving the microphone on, Reed and I talked candidly about being a Muslim American child and being vilified by association with Muslim terrorists of '9/11'. She said, "They supersize the bad stuff and pay no attention to the good stuff." Good stuff like her family members and the love and joy they shared. I will always remember the young Jewish woman from Israel and the young Muslim man from Palestine, sharing their work--hers with Iranian penpals, his in London on religious dialogue.
     Yes, I remember these stories and then I remember why I'm not doing it on a regular basis anymore. Money. But, I also know now that it is my fault--not the fault of others. When a person doesn't get the support and backing of his or her community, there is only one thing to do--expand the community to include people who do care and who do share the passion and goals of those brilliant ideas that DO and WILL make a difference in the world. Just in case one didn't know, I was told that my show lacked quality sound--not quality programming. No one could find fault with that. But, how easy would it have been to help solve the problem? Very. Better equipment. It could have been fixed, but the value of the show wasn't appreciated enough. I left, but it left a sour taste in my mouth and a scar on my heart.
     My friend Ardey declares that she forgives every person, place or thing that needs forgiving, including herself. It's a great mantra, because instead of being hurt that people didn't share in my dreams, I just have to remember that there are those who will and do. I may not have met them yet, but we're gonna meet each other soon. Those that I have met, we're working on it. And I also know that it isn't about money, it's about putting the emphasis on love and placing it on the scale of justice and recognizing that money will never be more than a tool. I also have to realize something else. Money should never stop us from accomplishing our dreams and passions, but that we must learn how to use other valuable techniques and tools to get around the money issue--like my blogs. So, look out world. Money won't stop me, but I will make money to continue the work. I'm just going to focus on what I do well and keep doing it.
     The Peace Hour starts again on September 11, 2010 on Blog Talk Radio. Think Peace Media and Communications has taken over the idea of the Think Peace Radio Network for young people, also to be heard on September 11, 2010. We're also looking to get a Think Peace van to travel around the United States gathering the stories of peace in action--something I'm good at and have been doing for six years. Oh, and if you like the idea about the work that we're doing, send a donation to Think Peace Media and Communications Network, 1408 Creekside, Apt. 3, Walnut Creek, CA 94596-5523. Your gift will be and is appreciated.

For more information visit the Think Peace Media and Communications blog and get ready for The Witch and the Preacher's Kid, to also debut in September 2010.

Inviting the Stranger ...

2010-08-20T09:49:00.000-07:00

into your heart!

Sometimes it seems that one person's pain is greater than another. Pain is pain and when you hurt --- well, it is just that. I have had and heard conversations that seem to say that Islam is bad, suspect. People I love feel that way and it has drawn an invisible wedge between us. Then I think of my friend Jomana and Suna, women who came and sat with me at my mother's wake and later funeral--who grieved with me and loved her and me. Look--I'm going to ask a favor. I'm going to ask that you take the face of those that you fear and put the face of someone you love over that face. What do you feel now? Rumi says:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness
comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet
them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes, because each
has been sent as a guide from beyond.

For the personal self and the neighbor, the lesson is great when we receive. Yesterday it was the Japanese, then the Jew. Later, we had to fear the Russians and of course, the Mexicans and the Blacks (well, you know ... wink, wink). Those people. Distrust. Hurt. Anger. Invite them in. And then get a grip on yourself and know that it is a reflection of what you find wrong with yourself.
      Here's what I want to know. Where are the conversations about faith? Where are the conversations about forgiveness? When do we cease judging and starting planning, changing, evolving? Where is our humanity in the quest to understand how we live in this world? Answer my questions, please. I'm tired of wondering.
     A wacky peacemaker on the quest for understanding. Won't you join me?
     Peace? We'll see.

Warning! It's Only An Apple

2010-07-01T02:57:00.000-07:00

This instrument may be dangerous to your flight.

I wonder how Eve felt holding the Apple for the first time. Just a thought.

As many of you know, I’ve had my share of restraints when boarding flights (see False Advertising). Do I think that I am on some sort of maybe-do-not-let-this-person-fly list? Of course not. Why would I be? After all, I am a peace-loving individual who does her level best to bring joy to the world. Okay, I’m overstating my peacemaking skills a bit, but I really do try. I mean, more than anything I want to help usher in a new paradigm of peacemaking.

Hence, this wacky peacemaking blog.

But, back to the warning. I flew to Jordan two weeks ago. I had no issues until I arrived in London. Warning! Warning! They wanted to check my bag. Of course. No problem. I’m getting to be a pro at this. I do my best to look innocent and harmless (hard to do when you are 6’3” tall, but I do have a disarming smile). The London stopover was wrought with problems with just about everything I had in my bag. Not having my lotions in a plastic bag—two items, guys! Less then two ounces, but alas, they took everything—and I do mean everything—out of my bag and I barely had enough time to get it all back in before my flight took off. Needless to say it wasn’t very organized—anymore!

Then I arrived in Jordan and what did they want to know? “Please open your bag, Miss.” Again, I’m a pro. No problemo. They look at my silver ball (called a Blue Ball microphone). It’s in its case at the time and once they see the branding (everybody knows Apple^TM), they let me go. It helped to explain all the other gadgets in my case, too. I do broadcasting and I carry lots of wires with me in addition to regular mics and recorders. By the way, I’m getting me a case so that I can label everything and put everything in its proper place. Maybe, just maybe it will help me through national and international flights.

Then I arrived in Frankfurt.

I had come from Petra, Wadi Rum and the Red Sea (great places—soon to be another blog report) and hurriedly stuffed things in my bags. This time, I didn’t have time (nor space) to put my ball away, so I kept my precious mic—actually one of the best microphones in the world—in the bag with my Apple^TM computer (also precious to me) so that it would not be damaged and viola! I’m instant suspect.

The young security woman asked me to open my bag and then pointed to the round object. I smiled. She did not.

What is this, Miss?

It’s a mic, I say.

I pick it up. I start to hand it to her and she recoils.

Are you crazy? she seems to say without words.

I know it’s kinda weird, I say. Really, it’s just a microphone.

She accepts the ball, handling it gingerly while also a little mesmerized by it, turning it over and over again. I imagine she’s trying to figure it out. Surrounding me are those who are also curious, though standing back. Have these people not see this before? I can’t believe it.

This takes no more than a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity as the other security people took an interest. I guess she realizes we’ve drawn a small crowd and promptly asks me to follow her into a room. Is this the place where they truss up suspects? It has a desk, which a man stands behind. She pushes the ball toward him. What is it? he asks. I can’t believe it. No one knows what this is? So I asked if I could record them. They were not amused.

By the way, I have no idea what that little white card with the strange light brown squares on it is, but I’ve had a similar card wipe the inside of my cases, run around certain objects and such so I’m thinking it is some kind of explosive device detector. Quickly, I imagine, this card (or several—he had several in his hand) found nothing to be afraid of. That was it.

You can go. Nothing else? I wanted—what I don’t know—but I wanted some acknowledgment, like … It’s the sad time for the world, ma’am, but what can I do? Thank you for your patience, however.

Anything.

Instead I get. Stop. Go. Git!

So, back to this peacemaking thing. Could we find a way, people, to end this cloud of terrorism that overshadows the moments that could be broken up with a little levity and God forbid (or not) that we laugh at some of our fears and realize this world ain’t as crazy as we would make it out to be. After all, it’s only an Apple^TM. How harmful could it be?

Oh, I forgot. Maybe Apple^TM is the forbidden fruit after all.

Metaphors and Analogies Across Time

2010-06-13T00:16:00.000-07:00

Talent speaks for itself.

When Dre (played by Jaden Smith) is getting ready for training by Mr. Han (played by Jackie Chan), he equates what he is about to embark upon as being prepared to be a Jedi knight. I laughed out loud because Star Wars was my generation. Then I remember that, well not anymore since the prequel of Star Wars is more of this generation's story. Then I remember, well, Jaden is 12, so Clone Wars keeps him full of metaphors that span a couple of generations. Wow! I love it. Of course this Karate Kid is considered a remake of the Karate Kid that starred Ralph Macchio. Even thinking of comparing metaphors of "Wax on, wax off" to "Put it on. Take it off," I believe that both movies take on a life of each one's own. Will and Jada, hats off to you. As a person who teaches peace camp each year, I can safely say, this teaches more about today's bullying than anything I've seen before. It also lets young people know that battle doesn't always mean destruction, but rebuilding--peacemaking.

I don't want to give away any of the movie. I know there have been negative reviews, but to those reviewers I say--you don't make movies and evidently you go to movies for something other than entertainment and inspiration. Give up the business 'cuz this movie is 4 Stars.

He's Mine and Tomorrow's, Too

2010-06-08T00:47:00.000-07:00

Owning Now and Not the Future

Give me a day with a bunch of five and six year olds and I can see tomorrow from my front row seat. He's my grandson. His name is Taliek. I loved him the moment I knew he was coming to this planet from wherever children come from. I am not one of those who believes that children begin at conception. In fact, not willing to be part of the debate of when life begins, I will just say that I believe that we exist before we were ever joined by egg and sperm. And we don't end just because the heart and brain stop either. What is life? After all, on this day in May, after traveling from California back to Texas, I wanted to stay with him. I don't want to miss anything. Of course, I will--miss a lot, you know.
     My grandson graduated from kindergarten this past May. It should have been a joyous time and for me it was. For him? Absolutely. Look at that face. Those large hands like his father's. His eyes? Mine. Humor? A combination of all of us, but truly his own. At least it will be. Right now, we get in the way of his development with the fact that we're in charge. In truth, we think we own him. My grandson. My son or My nephew. We claim him because we like to collect things--people, but he isn't just ours. He's tomorrow's, too.
     Tomorrow is his and as Khalil Gibran has said, "His dreams live in the house of tomorrow" and we can't go there. At least not all the way there. Someone said he looked presidential. In this picture, however, he looks like ours. He did this. He made the good grades. He sometimes talked too much in class. He troubles his bottom lip like his father does. I see yesterday in his face. His father is my first born after all. But, I see only a mist of him in tomorrow's light. Not quite fully formed and yet, I see his potential--most of it my hope. How can I know what is mine and what is his?
     Right now, things are tough. I wish we would think of his future when we make the decisions that we do. I told him that I would come and get him this summer and if his parents were good, I might bring them, too. I may not be able to go all the way into his tomorrow, but I promise you, Taliek, that I will walk with you as far as I can.
     I love you. Grammie.

Turning the Complaint Factor Around

2010-05-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

Complaints? Maybe it's you.

Seattle Columnist Danny Westneat writes, "The tea partyers aren't crazy. Maybe they are just living in an alternate universe." But, that's what happens with complainers. We spend so much time cursing the circumstances of our existence that we fail to act. The tea partyers are just one example, sad to say. Most of us spend about 75% of our time complaining, which leaves only about 25% for everything else, including eating and sleeping. For all of our sadness over the state of affairs in our world, we aren't doing a lot to solve them.
Now the truth is that I don't really know the percentages of our complaining versus our not complaining. In addition, it is not about whether we complain or not, but how much of our complaining leads to action. Yesterday, I spent a little time with students from a high school in Salinas. Salinas has been known for a while as a town wracked by gang violence. Grownups, school teachers and administrators, government leaders--all complain. But, what was heartwarming is that I found a cache of individuals who are doing something besides complain and some of those people are "kids"--young people, if you will. When talking with Vicki Barrone, a teacher, I remember saying that we complain about 75% of the time to which she replied, "Not me! I don't have time to complain." Then with a smile, she added, "Okay, I reduce my complaining to less than 25%." Still, she had it right. Quit your whining. Get out and do something.

So, why did I pick on the tea party? Well, I have some real issues with them (can you say, Sarah Palin and Glen Beck?--shudder--not together, though) and other groups, left-right, doesn't matter. They have most of the airtime these days, outshining each other on who is right and who is wrong. Well, here's a message. You're ALL wrong. Protesting in this way is for sissies. You ain't got no answers, go get them. Stop your bellyaching because I'm telling you that an army of peacemakers is being raised around the globe. Yeah, we might walk the streets, but with a purpose. We're gonna show you better than we can tell you, however. Because the writers who said that the tea partyers may be of an alternate universe wasn't far off the mark. Stop, folks. You live in this world and guess what, we got to live in it together. Which means ...

[Drum roll] ... that we have to give a little, share a little, make the whole world shine--a little. That's the story of ... That's the glory of ...

PEACE! Take care. See you at the march.

Special thanks to Sky Spirit Warrior from Seattle for the post from Danny Westneat.

The Other Side of Anger

2010-05-01T13:37:00.000-07:00

The best revenge is sleeping happily.

You've heard me say that being angry is not a sin and it isn't. Revenge, however, can be. Yet, when you hurt, made angry by injustice or betrayal, revenge may seem like an answer. Here's what I have learned over the past few months. I have been angry. I have been hurt. Life dealt me a blow from the bottom of the deck and I was pissed. I wanted someone to feel what I felt, to know that this type of pain, humiliation, and betrayal sucked--and in a way, I didn't care how it happened. But, I did. I do.

Why? Because I was also mad at me! I blamed myself for things like not recognizing the signs, for failing to take charge, for--here's the interesting part--not giving 'em a good whup-ass! There, I said it. Wanted to draw blood, I did. Not proud of it, but grateful to have gotten in touch with my dark side and beat it into submission. How? With love.

Revenge is a bitter pill. It raises the bile level to toxic levels beyond understanding. It fuels anger and unleashes our dark side. You know who gets hurt? The person whose soul is tampered by the concoction of evil--hate and malevolence are not easy task masters. They require more than a pint of blood from your soul. They claim it all.

Forgiveness, however, is a balm to the weary heart. So, too, is love. I can't begin to tell you that it is easier said than done, but oh what a joy when you finally realize that forgiveness is wide and deep enough to cover a multitude of sins, including my own. So, I took a dose--starting with myself. Then I remembered that God is love--I am love--and have started down a different road. The road to recovery.

I still say that there's something about getting pissed off that helps us recognize the opportunities before us. Getting angry is part of the fork in the road. Do you seek revenge? Wanna get even? No? Instead you forgive. Understand that life is not fair. I always reminded my children of this. It rains on the just and unjust. I got a little wet. I had some sorrow. But, I have always asked one thing of God when times are tough. "Please don't let me be bitter." This week another friend taught me another prayer. When things get tough and you're asking God to help you understand, you throw additional weight to this request and ask God to "Turn Up The Volume."

So, God, maybe I haven't been listening to well. I'm adding new speakers to my arsenal of peace tools. Take the spiritual hand of love and give me a blast of renewed faith and understanding, wisdom and compassion, love and joy--in the midst of this storm. Okay? God always answers and now that the volume is turned up I know that forgiveness is my choice instead of revenge. And that it is, in a way, the best revenge. These days I sleep well. I have more energy because I'm sleeping happily knowing that I dodged a bullet. Ain't that a kick in the pant?

Peace.

I Keep Trying to Get It Right ...

2010-04-13T20:43:00.000-07:00

From Black and White ...

May 1963 to ...

In Living Color 2010

“When are we White Americans going to get over our

ridiculous obsession with skin color?”

Andrew Manis, Ph.D.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Can I get a witness? We're back at it and as one person noted, isn't it time we got a little more creative? We've reducing our disagreements down to white supremacy versus humanity--although the poster child is once again--a black man. Obama.
     The pictures above are about 50 years apart and yet, do I have to be afraid? I don't remember ever being afraid as a little girl. Partly because my Daddy was 6 feet 5 inches of don't-mess-with-me "man" and partly because my parents took us as far away from the places where race relations were unhealthy. I grew up in New Mexico and now I know just how much my father sheltered us from the horrors happening in other parts of America. So, when I was 14 and moved to Houston, Texas where on the first day of school I get called a "nigger," I realized, I'm not in New Mexico anymore. Nor, was I part of a predominantly black neighborhood at Prairie View A&M University where my father taught or earlier at Langston University, where he also taught. Yet, I have to tell you, when the white boy called me that vile name, I wasn't insulted because that wasn't who I was and I knew it. I also knew he was a silly white boy and more than that, I knew I had nothing to be afraid of. I was naive.
     The hardest lesson for me that day, however, was that not one of my white teachers stopped him from calling me that name or reprimanded him for doing so and that if I hadn't been a quick thinker and ushered my then white girlfriends (admittedly they were horrified and the sister of the boy made ashamed) with satirical humor ("If we move to the left, maybe we can leave whatever he's talking about here"), there would have been a riot and the black football players that day would have been expelled for protecting my honor. I remember working for months with a young white friend for a UIL competition and having her father yank her out of the competition because the girl who was singing was black. Me. I remember and I thought I lived through those times, but lately, they have been brought to mind over and over again and while I am not afraid, I am pissed!
     You want to know what I'm pissed about? Well, I'll tell you. I was never pissed at the boy who called me that vile name or the parent of the girl who refused to let her play for me. I am finally pissed at the teachers in the cafeteria that day and the music teacher who simply told me, "Well, I guess you won't compete this year." By the way, I did compete and came in third because I had to rework the piece for acapella the day before competition.
     Know what I've been thinking about these past few months? Racism has never died. We think it has because we have Obama and Oprah, but give me a break, I could never hold up a sign that vilified Bush the way they are vilifying Obama and putting wanted posters up, threatening his life. The FBI would be at my house so fast, not only arresting me for terrorist thinking, but probably figuring out a way to get all of my little friends, too! Okay, maybe they like Oprah (they meaning mostly white women). Oh, but I almost forgot--not in Texas (another story, another time). Here's my dilemma. When do I speak up and when do I shut up? When do I hang on to dear life to be heard and when do I simply let it go? I know the answer. When it's time.
     When it's time, I'll be more understanding and patient with those folks who aren't working at desegregating their minds and who refuse to let go of their hatred and self-righteousness. And I'll be more willing to engage in conversations with those of different hues about race when we're really ready to deal with it. I can't change those minds, but what about those who say, "Well, that's not me" or "They're all talk!" Well, tell that to those girls in Birmingham who were blown up. In fact, tell that to every black person ever lynched (oh, wait--you can't), incarcerated, run out of town, had their land taken ... want me to continue? Think it ended in the 60s? Think again.
     The pictures above are not an anomaly, I'm sorry to say. They are fairly representative of a huge percentage of our population. Some hide it better than others. Racist thinking seemed to have gone underground for about a minute, but believe me, they (those who fit this description of card-carrying white supremacist) were never gone and most of us colored folks knew it. But, those of you who I know have the heart of progressives and are doing the work of humanity, start speaking up. When your brother or uncle or Aunt May or Cousin June set out to one of these rallies, speak up--speak out.
     And if you know that the death-threat is being bantered around. Tell! Tell! Tell! Because they aren't saying it to me and I can't tell you apart from one another. I can't. You think they all look like white, male, southerners? Look, I want to believe, but these days I can't afford to. Especially when you (my white friend) are silent. Like the teachers in the lunch room, like the music teacher or the multiple times that racism reared its ugly head and my white friend talked me into calling it something else--silence is a slap in the face.
     Wanna know why I call this blog and my work wacky peacemaking? I do because peacemaking is an insane notion when trying to deal with the insanity of other people. I've got to be crazy to write this piece knowing that some of my good white friends are going to be insulted. But, here's my message to all of my friends. You've got to be willing to do the unthinkable and step out of your comfort zone and especially that zone of silence and looking the other way. If I have my way, we're not gonna wait until there is a real tragedy and the Nation weeps. This nation went after Saddam Hussein because someone thought he had something to do with 9/11--okay, I know, they didn't think it, but they wanted others to think it (and this time, don't ask me who THEY are because you know as well as I do). Instead, make sure that your friends--black friends, know that they are cherished and ask, "What can I do?" "What do I need to know?" "Can we work together on this?" Something. Anything. Better than nothing.
     Don't be afraid. Stand up and show the world how crazy you are about peace. And how crazy you are about that person of color that you love.
     I do. And I do love you, too.

To read all of Andrew Manis' statement go here: Race Talk

A Wacky Idea Makes "Cents"

2010-04-10T19:21:00.000-07:00

"Brother, Can you spare a dime?" was a song written at the height of the depression by E. Y. "Yip" Harburg and Jay Gorney in an attempt to ask the question, "Why have I been abandoned?" I know that feeling. Hard work, as my parents taught, is its own reward, but 'brother' or 'sister' can't you spare a dime? Some time?
     So, when I heard the NPR story about Reed Sandridge's "hobby" of giving away $10 a day, I was intrigued. Especially since I learned that he started doing it after he lost his job. An employed person might be hard put to give away a dollar these days, but when an unemployed person gives away $10 a day!, it makes you take notice. Sandridge says he expects nothing from doing it but a good feeling, yet he does more than that. When the person who Reed decides to bestow $10 on shuns the gift because they feel they either don't deserve it or need it, he tells them to give away if it makes them feel better. But, rain or shine, Sandridge shares a $10 bill with someone. He speaks of doing it because of his mother, daughter of coal miner, who taught him that when you're going through hard times, that is when you most need to give.
      So, what's $10 worth? Well, I looked up what ten cents bought in 1932. For ten cents, you could buy a gallon of gas. You could buy a 5-lb bag of potatoes. So, I wondered, what can you get with $10? Well, according to the information reported, this is what people spent the $10 on: Food. Transportation. Gave to others. Shared with others. Even some refused the money. I believe that Reed is doing wacky peacemaking. Don't think otherwise. Can he afford it? The better question is, does it matter? I believe it does because it says that we can all give without expecting anything. And $10 may not seem like a lot, but we know that it matters. So, here's to you, Reed ... for taking a wacky idea and making it a reality. You give me hope. P.K.

      You can view Reed's blog at Year of Giving. You might learn something.

It's Time to Get "Peace'd" Off!

2010-03-25T22:27:00.000-07:00

LORD, grant me the serenity

to ACCEPT the Things I cannot

CHANGE

The COURAGE to CHANGE

the Things I can

And the Wisdom to KNOW

Where to Hide the Bodies ...

Can't say that I blame them and of course, you know what started this, don't you? The whole notion that there is no commandment that says, "Thou shall not be pissed off." But, I do remember telling you all that although I can't live with you--I CAN'T KILL YOU! That is the rule. That is the sanction and that is the law. More, what good does it do to kill you? As Bill Cosby says, "There'll be another one just like you!" --- well, actually he was telling his kids that he could kill them and make another one just like them--but you get what I mean. Right? Remember, if I have to explain my jokes, it ain't funny.
     Can't live with you? Can't kill you.
     The truth is, yes I can. And it seems that the rhetoric bantered around these days is close to the edge. We're talking politically and yes, we're talking Tea Party, Right-versus-Left Wing, and hate speech! I had just written in my Facebook that this rhetoric is bordering on Civil War and guess what? I get in my car and someone says the same thing. Can I get a witness? And while the other person on the show (Talk of the Nation) was pooh-poohing the idea, I thought, this is what makes me the angriest. Don't pooh-pooh what my DNA (on the backs of slaves, no less) is telling me. Like those with arthritis, we know when it's gonna rain.
     But, what we're hearing from certain pundits seem to support that everyone who is "mad" now has a right to be. And I agree, they do. But, still can't we look at this with another eye. This isn't about Republican versus Democrat of even right against wrong, this is about not getting our way and when we don't throwing a gigantic tantrum. This is not only about not getting our way, but if we don't get our way, we hurt one another. And there are those who are pushing us to the brink of disaster because they want a war. They want a war because they think they're gonna win.

Enough.

     I don't mind you getting angry, but we better learn to talk about it. As the Incredible Hulk use to say, "You don't want to see me get "peace'd" off, 'cuz I think I'm just wacky enough to do this. Look, I complain and recently, I've been very angry. You wanna know what I'm really angry about. THIS! This means that all the times I've asked to dialogue--all the shows I've done showing you that peace is possible, we get reduced to the them-versus-us and how can we get 'em attitudes. Bricks through windows. Spitting on people. Where's your imagination?
     I'm proposing that we all get "peace'd" off and that we do it with heartfelt intensity. Okay, we can have some heated words, but let's practice nonviolence. You can shout. You better not try and hit me. Respecting each other, listening to one another and respecting the right for every person to live might seem like a novel idea, but I believe it will work.
     Now, regarding the healthcare bill. Here's a peace idea. Why don't you go and speak to someone without healthcare and really try and put yourself in that person's shoes. Maybe it's not a perfect plan, but by Gawd, it's a start. After more than 47 years, we're finally looking at ways for everyone to have a healthier life. That means a healthier start for young kids before they go to school. That means that a healthier kid grows a healthier adult.
     Still, as I said earlier, I'm wondering if the upheavel is purposeful and I say to those like certain Radio and Television people, stop it. Stop it or we will stop you. I'm asking you to join me in a campaign that works at getting peace in action started. I'm asking all of you who are truly "pissed" off--don't talk with someone who supports your view. Talk to someone who doesn't. Heck, I'll even listen to you.
     I miss my show, I really do. This is where I do my best work, but I will tell you this. I'm not through and I'm coming back strong--right here and right now. You're pissed off now, but just wait. I got something for you. We're bringing the world back to the real "sanity" of love. I'm gonna love you to peace(s) or we might just both die trying.
    Peace'd Off!

WARNING. MAYBE BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH ...

2010-03-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

This man and others like him may be hazardous to the HEALTH of America. While some scoff and dismiss him as ineffectual, the opposite is true. He appeals to the fear and anguish of Americans who need someone to blame. He would see America decimated by bigotry instead of a whole and healthy America. Stay away from this man. Do not listen to him and counter his lies with truth, justice and healing for all.

P.K. McCary

Wacky Enough to Stand Against Harmful Tyranny

I'm Sorry---So Sorry ...

2010-03-16T21:20:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt that something can never be made right because no one takes responsibility for what happened? I do. I know when I haven't done what I should and often it is something so simple as not speaking up. I owe a lot of apologies. In fact, we all do. We may never be able to say them--maybe someone doesn't want to hear it (or we think they don't), or maybe that person is gone and you don't know where they are, or just maybe, you're not very brave. Well, here's a way to give that "I'm Sorry" and perhaps make someone's day. Here's where you can do it.

Now, you may be sorry about putting too much emphasis on your looks. That's a good one. You can look at those guilty past times and perhaps let go. As far as I'm concerned this is a peacemaking idea that has charm. What's your opinion? If you like the idea, give 'em $10. That is an "I'm Sorry" that may make a difference--if only to yourself.

Treat 'Em Like They Don't Know No Better ...

2010-03-11T23:04:00.000-08:00

Okay. The picture is none too subtle, but the sentiment works and forgive me, the picture makes what I'm about to say funny. Still, before you get too into the picture, let me tell you the genesis of the title and hence, this story.
     My friend Inez works in the Church and does anti-racism programming. She was asked this question: How do you keep from getting pissed off. Inez is Latino and working in a Church that might be considered significantly "white." And therein lies the rub. Why do we define groups by being predominantly one ethnic group or the other. No one ever says, "It's a human church." No we have to always point out--not the diversity--that would be okay. Instead we point out the disparities, in part because there are so many disparities we feel we have to overcome.
     Anyway, when answering the question, my dear friend looked at her heart and told us that she leads with her heart when doing anti-racism programming. What I noticed was that she didn't quite answer the question, so I, as her friend, reminded her that there was no commandment that said, "Thou shall not be pissed off." The reason is that I've noticed from my sisters of color that we spend a lot of time trying not to seem pissed off when we actually have something to be pissed off about. I know. This ain't sounding very peaceful, but as I've been taught--sometimes we do bring a sword to the table because divisions abound until we talk about them and actually do something about them, too.
     When my show was cancelled at Pacifica, I went to the Board meeting with a bat. Not to swing it, but to make a point. One, I could swing it. Two, I probably would be good at swinging it, but while there is no commandment that says, "Thou shall not be pissed off" (Yes, I like saying this!), there is one that says, "Thou shall not kill (or maim, or strike either). Still, this did bring about some real conversation which leads me to the title of this particular blog.
     One woman said, "Treat 'em like they don't know better." Her point was that you have to give them some slack in the learning curve of race. Some people just don't understand that there are other ways for us to connect. Better ways, if I may. When I saw the statement, I so resonated with it because isn't that what Jesus said after they crucified him. "Forgive them for they know NOT what they do."
     So, while I might get pissed off every once in a while, it's my problem to solve. In fact, when I think of treating 'em like they don't know better, I realize that I can actually show a little more compassion. And when I show compassion, I can forgive--a lot! And when I forgive, including myself when I get pissed off--I'm following the greatest commandment of all to love another as God loves me.
     Amen.

Sometimes We Make It ...

2010-02-05T17:12:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we don't.

But, don't give up!

I still believe that peace is like a yoga pose. I did my best to try to do 30 days straight of yoga, but alas--I did not do it. I could make up so many excuses, but I wasn't in one place 30 days straight and even though I am glad to know about studios around the country. I don't have an excuse NOT to do yoga (which I'm beginning to love--groan) because I know where the studios are when I'm in Houston, San Francisco, Monterey and Santa Cruz. Other than finding one of two Bikram's open 24-hours a day, I think I did pretty good burning up the highways and airways attempting to do it. Time was not on my side, but my commitment to taking care of my body is.

Which brings me to why I see peace in a myriad of experiences such as yoga. Today we might feel like we're about to fall 'splat' on our faces, that we're hanging on by a thread when it comes to peace and guess what? Sometimes we are. Yet, you have to ask yourself (ourselves), how did I/we get here? When I look at my life, my faith, my physical and mental being, I wonder, and the truth is that I know why. Maybe not all of it because somewhere in the subconscious mind I may be blocking. My reality might not jibe with what I think I know and feel. It gets a little discombobulated. Not only is it our own personal knowledge, but the knowledge of our ancestors--all of us.

When I first drove to Atlanta from Houston, I found out how much the past--even a past we don't understand--can drive you to sorrow or joy. On this trip, though, it was sorrow I felt. I was entering Georgia just as the sun started to crest on the horizon in the East. The scenery was lush, deep green kudzu (didn't understand at the time that these are weeds) and was startlingly beautiful. But, there was something troubling about the site and before I knew what was happening, my body was wracked with sobs. I knew. I just knew, that the beauty I was seeing was marred by the depths of tragedy that lived in those woods. Hanging bodies, burned and unrecognized. Ground sodden with the blood of men and women whose stories I didn't know, but whose souls cried out. I grieved and didn't know why. Then.

Now, I know. Now I understand that sometimes the past calls us to remember. I remember those times that in despair, I wept and ate an entire pie or a couple of bowls of butter-laden pasta. I remember when I slept afterwards, too tired to walk. I remember and I grieve for that other me, for those times when I didn't take care of myself. I think that to be a peacemaker I have to remember those times when I failed. Yes, when we as human beings have caused others to suffer, including ourselves. That we have to pay for it.

By being peacemakers again.

I mean it when I say ...

2010-02-02T20:07:00.000-08:00

And I ain't kidding!

So there! I really do mean it when I say "God bless the whole world, no exceptions." At least I try to mean it. Even though I say it and most people who know me well identify me with this statement, I have to work at it. As a Christian, I was taught “for God so loved the world …” and didn’t that include everybody? But, then I’d read about God destroying this person or that place and it was either be confused (which I was as a child) or else believe that God loves some of us and not others (not acceptable to my child's mind).
     Or, I had to believe that people did things that made them unloveable—like sinning. Oh, it didn’t have to be a really bad sin, like killing your brother. But even in that story, God didn’t kill Cain for killing Abel and supposedly didn’t allow anyone else to do kill him either. Yet there was that time he destroyed a couple of cities and turned a lady into a pillar of salt. Oh, and worse, flooded the whole earth killing whole bunches of people. Makes you wonder. Makes me wonder anyway. So, why have I taken up the mantra for God to bless the whole world with no exceptions? Maybe I’m standing up to God. That’s a good one.
     “God,” I say. “You need to bless everyone because otherwise some people are going to think you love them more than other people.” I’m not polite about it either. My friends at the World Peace Prayer Society say the simple prayer of “May Peace Prevail on Earth.” It's a statement that resonates for millions of people and it is powerful. I like it. A lot. But me—I’m going straight to the source and taking God on.
     “Look, God," I say. "I’m not begging or asking. I’m demanding that you bless all of us or none of us. Got it?” And you know what God says to me? Well, what I feel that God is saying to me? It goes something like this.
     "You want to take me on, Perri?" God calls me by my given name, by the way.
     "Yes."
     "You sure?"
     "Yes."
     There's a little thunder and lightening for effect, but I can hear something in that rumble that belongs to God and I am not afraid. You see ... it was grace that taught my heart to fear and grace my fears released, so I stand up to God and say.
     "I'm serious, God." And I wait.
     And then God smiles at me, a smile that touches me from my head to my toes and lives right here in my heart, and says ...
     "So be it." And God does.
   Feel it? I do.

Be Careful of False Advertising

2010-01-26T15:46:00.000-08:00

Peacemakers Beware!

     I've had it happen to me before.
     "Ma'am, could you come with me?"
     "Of course," I always say when asked to join security at the airport. I'm not afraid because after all, they randomly pick people and go through their bags. Something may have showed up on the screen. I know the drill. I have plenty of equipment and sometimes those cords look menacing. So, I gladly go.
     He offered me a chair to sit down, but I was in a hurry and so I declined. I noticed that he seemed uncomfortable for some reason as he put on rubber gloves, asked my permission to go through my backpack and started the search. Still not worried. Until ...
     Sniffing at my back leg was a police dog. He was promptly guided to my backpack. It wasn't that the dog looked or seemed unfriendly, but 'what the hey?' Dogs. Bomb detectors. This was serious. As the security guard went through my bag, this beautiful animal walked around the bag for a moment and then promptly sat on his hunches. Whew! Nothing there. I mean, I knew nothing was there, but still.
     I later found out why the security guard was so uncomfortable. I had a book in my bag, but in the zipper portion was my external hard drive (very slim, about 5"x3") with the cords around it. Placed oddly enough against the book, on the screen it looked like an explosive device. More than that, my Mac which was in a container on the conveyor belt, had stickers that read, "May Peace Prevail on Earth," and "No Hate Spoken Here," to name a few. I didn't look like a terrorists, but you can never tell.
     The security guard said that it was uncomfortable for him because if terrorists started looking like peacemakers (which he said I definitely looked the part), they were in trouble! Of course, I'm 6'3" and my boys are taller than I am. I've always told them they could never pull of a crime because they could definitely be picked out of a lineup. So, I do my best to convey the gentle giant persona. Most of the time this is true, but there are moments ... Well, needless to say, I was grateful I wasn't a terrorist and grateful that all that was in my bag was an external hard drive. But my life did flash before me! I mean, everything I've written, designed, etc., was on that drive. I'm just glad that despite the evidence that my bag could have contained an explosive device, the young guy was quite steady and kind with my things. I mean, I could tell he was sort of nervous. With the December incident still in his mind, everybody seemed to be on pins and needles. I could feel it even though I knew I had nothing to worry about, the tension was palpable.
     But, what I really noticed was that even though there was that tense moment of the unknown, the young man never stopped being kind (even when I refused a seat), he never gave me that askance look that says, "You're in trouble!" His hands shook, though. He dropped the little wipe twice. But, he was kind. Even the guy with the dog was kind. They apologized profusely, too. They didn't want me to be a terrorist.
     I guess that makes them peacemakers, too.

The Greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction ...

2010-01-18T10:42:00.000-08:00

Your Mouth!

The credit for this statement goes to Rev. Deb at Inner Light Ministries in Soquel, California

Yesterday I was treated to the type of sermon we should all get every once in a while. Now, I love a good sermon. A good sermon makes you think, reflect, but a good sermon teaches and gives you a mirror by which you look, see and change. I admit, I don't like sermons that PREACH at 'cha. For me, that defeats the purpose. The minute that type of preaching starts, you ...

Get it?

I don't want anyone thinking that preaching is bad. As I said, I love a good sermon. Well, I like good lectures, too. What it boils down to is the message and you can't give a message unless you engage. Okay, I'm gonna mention them only because they're such good fodder for this point. The folks in the bully pulpits. That's right. People like Rush! Savage! "Pat 'em Down" Roberts! to name a few. What makes a good message is the messenger who is not afraid to engage. These guys, they don't engage. They sit behind a mic or in front of a camera and they pontificate. No real substance, but dangerous nonetheless. Their mouths need disarmament strategies.

When Rev. Deb said that the greatest weapon of mass destruction was not nuclear weapons, but ... pregnant pause ... YOUR MOUTH! I immediately got out my pen and paper. This was gonna be good. The woman next to me saw me with my pad and asked is I had a pen. I gave it to her and watched her writing along the edges of the church program--copious notes--like mine. I gave her several sheets because I knew that she knew--this was gonna be good! We were not disappointed.

You know as a peacemaker (yes, I'm still one), I struggle. I admit it. I'm a strong, 6'3" amazonian woman and I struggle. I need substance. Food for the brain. Food for the heart. Peacemaking is work and I must stay prepared and ready. That's why the message on Sunday was so fulfilling. It turns out that this month has been about faith. If I know one thing, peacemakers need a strong faith in the inevitability of peace! Not, the possibility. Not the probability, but the inevitability. Peace isn't in the future. Peace happens every day! EVERY DAY!

The problem we've had with those in the bully pulpits is that they make their money making people miserable. You gotta watch out that this one and get rid of that one. This we're better than you talk is getting old. Stop it! But, then what I was reminded of yesterday is that I've made the folks who control their bully pulpits into mountains. Bigger than they are! I want 'em gone and I want them gone now! That's wrong. YES--It Is!

See, we need them. Yes, they are deceivers, but are you fooled? And if you are sometimes fooled with their facts, then you need to get better prepared. Study. Work out (mentally, physically and yes, spiritually) and know the divine truth of our existence. We have the potential for mass destruction or mass creation. EVERY DAY we're building cultures of peace. I saw it yesterday at Inner Light. I see it on a day-to-day basis when I take the time to look. But, you know why, most of all, that I believe? Why I have faith? Because I am changing into the type of peacemaker who can see it no other way.

Today, we celebrate the life, the vision of Dr. King. I met him briefly when I was 14. Less than six months later, he was dead. I didn't understand the magnitude of that meeting. Anymore than meeting and working for a week with Barbara Jordan. As a child, I believe that I thought peace didn't happen until we got to heaven. So, that meant there would be no peace until I died. Well, let me tell you--believing that will thwart attempts to live in the now! And what I know now is that Heaven is not a place, not a concept, but a practice. And, while our mouths can be weapons, it can also be a powerful tool. Rev. Deb said it best. God gave us the power. She said that she wouldn't have and I understand that because the power is all of ours, including those who use their voice as weapons. But, we're free, all of us and choosing peace is the alternative.

So, I'm naming and claiming peace. I know it's hard work, but you better be warned. I'm working out every day and honing this body, mind and spirit for the every day of peace. Join me? Then get prepared.

We Want Poetry With Flowers

2010-01-15T06:44:00.000-08:00

Check out this link at Def Poetry Jam ... And then tell me whether or not you are a ready to be peacemaker. Look at every slide of film at this Poetry Fest on Def Poetry Jam and then TELL ME ARE YOU READY TO BE A PEACEMAKER? Don't stop until you've heard every rap, poem, essay on the things that go bump in the night, that are the things of nightmares at this site and then tell me if you are truly ready to be a peacemaker?

We want poetry with flowers

Sweet words of expression

and soft phrases that enthrall

We want to believe in a God that cares

and his children tip toeing through the tulips

with the ukele playing in the backgound

We want no conflict 'cuz peace is a utopian idea

and we want poetry that matters to the heart

Sweet, kind, wonderfully smooth, rhyming

and timing through our brains

'Cuz peace is a poem and we are its words

Are we?

The more I embrace the idea that I am

CALLED to be a peacemaker

The more I am faced with realities that hurt

Yes, there's the radio station that promotes

peace and then stabs you in the back

Yes, there are the peace organizations that

say that money matters most

And yes, I'm finding that they might like the message

But they don't always want--I say want--the messenger

'Cuz he or she might be that other being

Less blue-eyed, less light enough and

God forbid a Haitian or a Palestinian

Niggers for the New Millennium

People we can point a finger at and say

They ain't one of us

Yes, I want poetry with flowers, too

But I know that in order to have it

I gotta plant the flowers that will grow

and survive

I must live the poetry of my dreams

by facing the realities of my nightmares

And only then ...

Only then ...

Can I sleep peacefully

I AM A PEACEMAKER

By the way -- are you laughing now?

Peace is a Yoga Pose ...

2010-01-10T11:05:00.000-08:00

Day 1
If any of you read O Magazine recently and saw the article by a woman who is taking a Bikram's Yoga 60-day challenge, I just want to say--I'm not as crazy as she is. However, I'm crazy enough to do the 30-day challenge. The challenge is to do 30-ninety minute sessions of Bikram Yoga in a room hot enough to melt brain cells. Still, like the woman in the article, there is a reason for my madness. Years of neglect, depression, poor eating habits and laziness have created the body I now reside. So, at the end of the session today, I looked and guess what? Nothing had changed. Well, that's not exactly true. It is a step in the right direction and that is change enough. For now.
    You see, as I contemplate ways in which to be a peacemaker, I, like Gandhi know that the change starts with me. I have to be the change I wish to see. The good news is that it is a worthy endeavor. The bad news is that change is hard, sort of like those poses I attempted to do today. Now you'll notice that the picture above is not me! I know you thought it was, but I want to make sure of truth in advertising. I'll never be that person above. I won't be younger, for one thing. But, I know that over time, I will look and feel younger. I might not be as limber, but I can promise you that I'll be limberer! But, then I'm not supposed to be that child in the picture above, but to do it for the child that lives in me.
     Remember the innocence of your childhood? I don't either. Having children, however, reminded me of that innocence. My daughter thought I was the smartest woman in the world. When her innocence started receding, so did her belief in my infalliability. That was a good thing, oddly enough. I use to tell my daughter that I could change the traffic lights at will. I would drive up to an intersection, snap my fingers and viola - light change. She was so excited. Every time a friend rode in the car with us, she would ask me to do my magic. I loved it. One day it changed.
     My daughter in all seriousness told me later, "I can make the light change, too, Mommie." And she did. As we came upon the intersection I watched her watching the other light and knew that she knew my secret. She waited patiently, fingers at the ready and viola - magic. I was so proud. I love watching a mind take shape. Mine included. It was a valuable lesson for me that day, too. We never talked about it either. We just smiled, both knowing what had happened. Not too long ago, my daughter did the trick for her nephew (my grandson) and she looked at me and smiled. Hey, we must pass on our best tricks after all.
   At yoga this morning (doing it before my brain had time to engage and talk me out of it), my teacher was so encouraging. She talked and demonstrated and sometimes I could and sometimes I couldn't. But, I walked away today knowing that my body remembers that it was once limber like that child above and my body reminded me that it won't be overnight. My brain, however, soared. Even with one session, I'm breathing better and thinking clearer. I'll get it eventually. Even if I don't manage to do 30-days, I won't give up!
     So, what does yoga and making make-believe magic have to do with peace? Well, the thing about humor is that if you have to explain it, perhaps the humor needs work. Let's just say, I've offered some insight. Now you have to figure it out. My daughter did. My grandson will, too.
     Peace.

Peace is ...

2010-01-08T17:00:00.000-08:00

Not if I have anything to do with it ...

Just before the New Year, a friend handed me a note that said, 'Peace is boring!' I laughed out loud, which, of course, brought me some attention. What's so funny? When I stopped laughing, I told them. He said peace is boring. It is? Yeah, well, it can be.

Peace is boring. It often is, without a doubt, the singularly most boring routine of the day. Actually, it can be more than boring and on top of that, a lot of us think of peace not only as boring but as unattainable as well. So, why bother? What's the point? People will continue to annihilate one another and treat the other person as gum on the bottom of their shoes. Peace. Not my cup of tea!

Hey, as a peacemaker, the only way Jesus could get a crowd was to do some magic first. Everybody knows that Gandhi had to practically starve himself to get any kind of attention. Oh, and King--he had to create some entertainment for the FBI. Peacemakers have to create their own schtick in order to get noticed. I've been studying peacemakers for a while and I am convinced that in order to join the ranks of real peacemakers, you better have an act--something to grab those war mongers' attention. Rosa Parks decided not to give her seat up to a white male. Peace Pilgrim walked until her shoes had holes in them. And now me--I'm making fun of all of them. Believe me, it ain't easy either. See, there are those of us who want the easy peace. You know: that kind of peace; the peace where everyone gets along and sings Kumbaya. So, tell me--when's the last time you sat around the camp fire singing that song? Long pause. That's what I thought.

Then there are those of us who feel like we're living peacefully until a conflict starts. Hey, peacemaker, the definition of peace is not--I repeat--not the absence of conflict. We're gonna get dirty and we're gonna get frustrated. In fact, we're going to get angry and we're going to handle it poorly. Things like forgiveness and reconciliation take lots and lots of practice. You gotta start somewhere. Why not go looking for a fight? You have to get your practice in somehow.

Let me tell you what I've learned about peace. It was a lesson I learned from a girl named Terry Shaw. We were both in the 7th grade and our gym teacher thought it would be fun for the girls to learn wrestling moves. Now at age 12 I was already a 6 footer. Yeah, got called the Jolly Green Giant until I graduated, but hey--I digress. Anyway, no one wanted to wrestle me. Go figure. Just because I was taller than everyone, too. But, Terry Shaw, probably no bigger than 5' 3" (and I'm stretching the facts) said that she would wrestle me. Everyone laughed at her. Including me! The teacher asked, "You sure, Terry?" Terry just smiled and nodded her head.

Well, we got in our positions on the opposite ends of the mat. Terry smiled again and it kind of made me angry. I didn't want to hurt her. She choose this. I was gonna hurt her and then I decided that I would make it quick. I took two steps towards Terry with my goal in sight. Terry waited and then quickly took 2 steps backwards as I headed for her, grabbed the end of the mat and flipped it! Yeah, you guessed it. My legs went up and I came crashing back on the floor. Terry wasn't through. With a yell that I can still hear, she soared through the air with the greatest of ease and landed on me. Yes sirree.

Now, I know that this took probably two minutes, but I see this event happening in slow motion. I can now testify that the bigger they are--well, the harder we fall. With the wind knocked out of me and Terry lying across my chest and abdomen, the teacher fell to the floor and counted "1-2-oh, by the way, Terry, this doesn't really count-3"! By this time stunned faces broke into grins and laughter, including me. Terry got up, reached down and helped me to my feet. Know what I did? I threw my arms around her and hugged her. That was definitely not a boring lesson.

What did I learn? Never wrestle with short people? No, that wasn't the lesson. The lesson for me was never take anything for granted. That thing about size? Well, bigger don't mean better and certainly doesn't mean that I had the right to win. I learned that there are things like winning and losing, but that losing doesn't have to hurt so much (or for long anyway). I gained a new respect for Terry. She wasn't trying to hurt me. There were plenty of mats on the floor and we had all been taught how to fall. Okay, so she gave me a little nudge that wasn't quite fair, but hey, I told you guys in the first of this wacky peacemaking series that life isn't always fair. The teacher had fun. I had fun. Terry had fun and won! No one ever looked at her the same.

I guess that I'm saying that we should lighten up and by all means, have some fun! Peace doesn't have to be boring. Stay around long enough and you'll see!

PEACE!

When to Speak and When to Shut Up!

2009-12-29T14:13:00.000-08:00

Silence is golden, but my eyes still see

Silence is golden, golden, but my eyes still see

From the song, Silence is Golden

Remember the song, Silence Is Golden, sung by FrankieValli? The song is about a guy struggling with whether to tell a girl he likes that the guy she's involved with is scum! The song takes to task the philosophical bent that "silence is golden?" Is it? I wouldn't know. The older I get, the harder it is to keep my mouth shut. Perhaps that is the problem with getting older. We don't have much time to waste, so it's better to say it than to swallow it. Let's see. Tell the doctor what really hurts or beat around the bush? Hmmmm. Tell him. I remember that my grandmother never wasted words or time. "That's just foolishness," she might tell me when I complain about my job or something else that bugs me. Do what you think is right, she would tell me and that was that. Still, as I study communications, I realize that most of the theories about communication have more to do with the observation of others than actual experience. It's easy to judge what others are thinking or doing in a somewhat sterile environment (sterile meaning any environment outside your own), than to actually risk your own vulnerability to understand from the inside what it means to communicate. Yet, I do understand the reluctance to do so since risking yourself for the sake of social science can be dangerous. You have to actually evaluate yourself and most of us don't want to do that. I'm sure of it. Because if we did, we'd have to acknowledge that we muck things up with our involvement.

My daughter is upset. She wants to move away to another school. Hey, how about another town? She is sad. Her friends are horrible. The teachers suck and if she could start over, it would be okay. I have to explain to her that it would if she wasn't taking her with her. Huh? We can't fix anything until we work on ourselves. Then perhaps at least part of the problem would be fixed.

Right off the bat, I am going to disagree with the notion that silence is golden except when you're having an argument with yourself. Then you might want to shut up and listen to that inner voice that is trying to tell you something. Sometimes we spend so much time arguing with ourselves about the right way to handle a situation that we don't take time to listen. I argue with myself and usually lose because I am not sure which side I am on. To speak or not to speak, I assume that is the question. Right? Right!

Still, that's only one half of the equation in communication. I have to argue with myself and then try it out on you, too. That's pressure. I want to be able to make sure I am making sense (hence, first conversations with myself) and then you come and mess up my flow after practicing so hard. If we can't solve the problem, then I have go back to the drawing board. But, as the older mama here, I am going to take a stab at this and say that when waiting for the other shoe to fall, we should check our feet prior to there being a problem. Okay, poor analogy. Silence works during reflection. With communication, even if you're not saying anything when you should, the look on your face, your stance, the raising of your eyebrows ... far from golden. Those things speak volumes. Communication is more complicated than we realize.

So, what are we talking about? Conflicts. Seems to be the task before us. How do we communicate in a way that lessens conflict? Do we not talk about it because it might cause a conflict? Are there rules of engagement as some call conflicts? So many unanswered questions and as I try to make some sense to incite a conversation, I recognize that there are more questions than answers because we are still working it out. So, when the guy asks the question of whether he should share some disturbing news with someone he cares about, my question is "what is his motivation?" To save her. To enlighten her? To make himself the better choice? To let her know she has a choice? When I have the compunction to speak, that somehow if I don't speak, something ghastly will occur, I am moved to ask myself if it will make a difference. Will I be heard? Will I be heard in a way that moves us forward or takes us back?

My grandson comes to visit and while his Dad (my son) and I are talking, he is itching to interrupt. "Excuse me, excuse me," he says as he prances around us. "Grammie, Grammie," he pleads. "I have something to tell you." Finally, relenting, I bend to hear what he has to say.

"You know what?"

"No, what?" I say with interest.

"I'm .... ummmm." He gropes for something to say, finally muttering something to fill the void. I realize then that while he didn't really have anything to say, he did. He wanted to say this. Pay attention to me. Make me feel important. See me and let me know you care.

I do. And I did. Maybe the whole idea about conflict is not always the resolution, but finding ways to make sure that we are as important to the other as they'd like to be. As we'd like to be to them.

Get it? Got it!

Making Crazy Peace with Music

2009-12-26T17:16:00.000-08:00

I personally miss Michael Jackson although I didn't plan to. I found myself a little startled at his death, not expecting it. I also found myself quite sad. I grew up with Michael and he was the same age as my brother who looked remarkably like him before he changed his looks so many times. With all the news about him, I was a little tired of seeing his face in the news because it seemed to always coincide with scandal. Yet, like a lot of women, I could believe that he was strange and even a little damaged, but never dangerous, especially to children. Yet, I don't know. I couldn't know. He was far out of my reach and so, I turned my back on him, but never his music. I did my best to separate the Michael of the tabloids from the Michael whose music always will and still touches my soul.
     As we end this current year and head into the last year of the decade of this new millennium, I believe that music may well be our salvation. Of course, as a peacemaker who happens to be just a little off, I could be wrong. That's the thing about being a peacemaker, we are perpetually questing for peace. Still, today, the day after the Christmas, the first day of Kwaanza--Umoja--makes me think of ways in which we have unity. Music is unifying. Take Michael's We are the World and then one of his best (one of my favorites), Heal the World. We believe. We have hope. We have faith, that we can make this a better world. But, if we can feel it in a song, we have to understand that we can't separate it from who we are as well as who we are becoming. Evolution. Who are we becoming?
     All this wrangling among ourselves. Everyone has an idea on how we can make this peace happen in our crazy world and I have to say, why don't we must make some crazy peace every chance we get and be done with it. Let's not separate ourselves into bits and pieces, but take the whole of our evolution to come to terms with the good, the bad and often the ugly. Now, this wacky peacemaking blog is beginning to sound a little maudlin and I can't let that happen. I have to make what I say sting a bit, but I also want to soothe and perhaps even make you laugh a little, too. Still, laughter and tears are a good indication of our growth. Nothing is ever so black and white after all.
     There's a Biblical adage that we should become like little children. In that, perhaps, Michael sometimes took it a bit too far. He was ever the child because part of his childhood was taken from him. Still, he had a brilliant mind for music, which is anything but child's play. He could take a song and make it touch the core of each person. No one will ever be able to take that from him. He could lose himself in the creativity of song and dance and we are mesmerized still. He did that, despite what we may say or not say about him.
     So, what's the point of this particular blog. Christmas Eve, I heard for the first time a Rev. Deb at Inner Light Ministries in Soquel, California, say that she couldn't worry about what people might say or not say about her. Her concern was the need to say it, live it and be it, the peace she wants to see in the world. Well, that's the point, isn't it. You can't do this for anyone else. Crazy peace means doing what you do, the best you can do it and whenever you can do it. Don't worry if it sounds right, even ramblings of a blog, but ramble nonetheless 'cuz craziness is its own reward. If you feel it--the peace that is--share it. Otherwise, there's nothing out there to remember you by. Keep the music in your heart and soul and don't sweat the small stuff, but don't stop making the music of peace.

When we agree to disagree ...

2009-12-20T23:44:00.000-08:00

What a bunch of hooey!

When someone tells me after a particular dispute, "let's just agree to disagree," I wonder if they understand that we've accomplished nothing with that statement. What? Now we go to our separate corners and glare at each other? I don't think so. Who said I had to agree to your nonsense? After all, we disagree. Period. I don't need your agreement about your disagreement with me nor will I give my agreement to you. It's pointless. We disagree. I don't need agreements at that point, I need your acquiescence. How 'bout that? You're wrong. I'm right! So, there!
   Peacemaking is wacky business in part because we make up these pointless rules about how we should handle conflict. We should be polite (always polite). We should never shout and if we're angry, we should leave and come back when we're ready to talk. Tears, Histrionics. Hysterics. Not allowed. We should use rationale and good judgment and be always undemanding. People are not comfortable with too much emotion or passion in conflict. God forbid, we should look like we're ready to tear our hair out. Or yours. You know what this reminds me of? Perfect pictures. We want the perfect look. A kind of June Cleaver in heels and pearls. My Mom didn't look like that and neither did most of my friends' mothers either. I don't know about you, but I am an emotional person and sometimes I talk a little loud. Sometimes it ain't pretty.
     The truth is that conflicts can be messy. We handle conflict by talking (and sometime shouting) through it. Not always though. It actually depends on the people having the argument and their particular styles. Once I got an email from someone who said, "I'm feeling hostility from you and think we should talk about it." Now, that's crazy. Can you imagine going up to a hostile person and demanding that they somehow listen to what you have to say? Brave or insane? I'm not sure which. What that person didn't understand about me, however, was that I'm never hostile to strangers. I don't know them well enough to be. Now, my kids--they'll tell you just how hostile I can get when I'm riled by something they've done. I don't waste my hostility on people who 1) don't know better (if they knew me well, they already know what my response will be, and 2) who I don't know well. Why waste the effort?
     No, I find myself in conflict with mostly those that I am close to and those that I know because the more you get to know a person the more you find out what you don't like about them. That's either when true friendship begins or when it ends. Conflicts usually start for a more basic reason. You disagree. Not a Tiger Woods type disagreement with his wife. He was wrong. She was right. Those are another type of conflict and require decisions that have to do with not agreeing to disagree, but deciding whether the relationships can withstand the problem and survive. Sometimes it is better to walk away. Sometimes it is good to stay and fight.
     I have a few basic rules that I think are great rules of engagement.
     Never fight with strangers. You don't know them well enough to have a disagreement. Scenario. You're waiting for a parking place. Someone comes from the other direction and takes it before you can pull in. Do you a) Fried-Green-Tomato them? or b) go find another parking place. Look, they won. You lost. But, on a more serious note, what will you accomplish by fighting with them? Nothing. Find another parking place. Do not pass go. Do not give them the finger.
   Don't placate a person you're arguing with. Now you may think that you've done nothing wrong and that's okay. But, you've got to understand that the other person thinks differently. Placating a person may raise their ire about 10 degrees. And don't do the "I get it" because obviously you don't. Not really. There are only two ways that a conflict can truly play itself out. Solve it. Not solve it.
   Be willing to listen (with a caveat that you may have to listen to someone who is talking loudly). Of course, the other side of that is that the other person must be willing to listen to you as well. Now, this is where the rules of engagement change a bit. In some models of engagement, especially as it relates to nonviolence, you're driving towards a sense of understanding. You have to understand what the other person wants and you want them to understand what you want. If the other person is yelling, it probably is a good idea not to try and out yell them (because then no one hears the other). But if they persist or you feel the urge do more than yell, it might be a good time to cease the discussion. This, however, is not agreeing to disagree. That agreement is moot. This is knowing that you're not going to really hear one another no matter how loud you talk.
     Understand that conflicts take time and effort. I want quick and easy solutions, but conflicts are neither quick nor easy. They are generally built over time and carried in these conflicts are probably centuries of misunderstandings, abuse, oppression (on all sides) that can never be ascertained in one quick argument. Of course, I think that's where we get that "we agree to disagree" stuff from because the person who is saying that already has his plot in motion to make sure that you lose! Another conflict in the making. In these cases another conflict is always in the making.
     Always be prepared for conflict. I can hear you saying that defeats the mission of friendship, but I beg to disagree. Life is as life does and we're a bottleneck society of beings--narrow in our thinking--focused on the outcome rather than the process. The process for the conflict is that usually the conflict is about the things that we don't talk about, that we're too polite and politically correct to bring up. Start talking about the things (elephants in the room, if you will) prior to when a conflict arises. If you learn in the middle of a decision that your boyfriend believes that women can't be ministers, for instance, the time to know that is not when you decide to go to seminary. You mean you didn't know I felt this way? Duh! No!
     Preparing for the conflict means communicating honestly. And that means addressing issues when they happen rather than waiting until these issues have festered in your mind until you blow. If you're feeling a little neglected, it's okay to say it. My grandson wanted to spend the night at my house, but I had another engagement and explained that his Grammie would have to see him another time. I didn't ask him if he understood, simply that I had made the decision. His response was good. "Grammie, I don't like it when you say no to me." Good for him. Then we talked. He wanted me to know how he felt and he didn't suffer silently. I'm glad. I wasn't allowed to do that when I was younger. Hmmmmm. Evolution is taking place.
   I read recently that one should do the following when conflicts arise:

Freeze. Don't move. Don't speak. I'm not so sure. Pause, yes. Freeze? Remember the 'be prepared' motto?
Think. Look at the situation. Assess. I can go with that. But, again, are you prepared?
Examine. List all the options before you. Let's all say it together: "BE PREPARED."
Decide. Hope you're prepared.
Act. Prepared. Prepared. Prepared.

     My friend who is a trainer in nonviolence once answered a question from a caller who said, "If someone breaks into your house and threatens your family, you won't be able to use nonviolence." He was, of course, instructing my friend that violence is a reality. My friend, like me, believes that conflicts are happening every second of the day. Conflicts about what to eat, what to wear. Conflicts about whether to drive on Highway 1 or take the long way around. The major rule for conflicts is not to agree to disagree, but to disagree and not shoot the other person. And there are many, many ways to inflict violence. The proverbial shot to the heart or self-confidence of a person can be as devastating as a physical shot to the body. You may not see the damage for a long time.
   Look, I'm learning how to do this work everyday. I know that I don't always get it right. Again, it is not an agreement that we make to disagree, but an agreement to see it through to its rightful resolution. You may limp along the way, but in the end, you just might be able to limp out holding on to each other.
     Once at women's gathering of Lutherans, an argument ensued that had to do with excluding white women from some of the breakout sessions for women of color. The white women were incensed. The women of color were resolute that this was a time that didn't include the white women. Women were running up to the microphone to express their opinions. Finally, one woman said, "Let's just stop and pray!" to which I responded immediately. "You should have come to this meeting prayed up! We're in the middle of an argument and it needs to come to its rightful conclusion." We actually accomplished more that day than ever before because we let our guards down. We said things that for years we kept silent about. It hurt. But, it was also cathartic for women of color to stand together and it was good for white women to see that. It was good to see white women understand the years of anguish that women of color suffered and it was good to know that white women wanted to be a part of a process and finding out why they couldn't at that point and how they could in the future. It wasn't an agreement to disagree, it was an agreement to understand! And accept.
     Get it? Peace.

Breathing New Life Into Our Words

2009-12-17T18:10:00.000-08:00

There is no scripture in any of the sacred texts that I've ever read that quotes God as saying, "Thou shall not be pissed off!" I'm sure of it. I've looked because I carry a certain amount of that old-time-religion guilt that says things like, be polite, even to jerks and don't be rude to your elders. But, lately I've been getting "pissed off" a lot and that, while not a sin, is certainly unhealthy.

     The conversation went something like this:

      "Man, she said that to you? Word?"
     "Word, Man. She said that I didn't have the brains God gave me. That's low."
     "Word! I'd be pissed, too!"

     I was riding the bus while in Houston recently and overheard this conversation between two young men discussing the distress of one of them being dissed by a woman. The use of the word "word" drew my attention. Word, as in "for real" with a question mark and then Word again, as in "for real" in answer to the question. Then the exclamatory "Word" as in "I can't believe it" word that agreed with the response of the other man that "Word! That was low!" By now, you're wondering where I'm going with this. Word! Just Word!, said more about the conversation between the two young men than all the other words combined. Word? Word. Word! Three distinct meanings. One word. And we wonder why we can't understand one another. Except--they did.
     For all the standard articulation that we have as grownups, we miss some serious nuances of the human language. It isn't just what you say, but how you say it. George Bush was the consummate player of words, but it wasn't what he said--they misunderestimated me--but how he used our getting mad at his ineptness as our failure. We were rude and that was unconscionable. Reporter after reporter fell into that trap and while it made for great late night comedy routines for folks like Leno and Letterman, and while we were unhappy with Bush and his Bushisms--he was having the final Say. We may have had the last word in our discussion of him or even to him, we just didn't get that he still had the power. Word! Even when the guy threw his shoe at Bush, certainly a proverbial word of protest, Bush Had The Final Say!
    The power of words. What does that mean. In my world, it means making something happen, but truth be told--that ain't the truth. My children always could have the final word. It was my gift to them because as they had the final word, a word that I usually met with silence, I knew that I had the final say! While my daughter blustered and fumed and said all manner of things about how unfair I was, that I wasn't a good Mom, or whatever it was she hollered out, I had the final say. She cleaned her room or washed the dishes or got off the telephone. Because I said so!
     I'm beginning to realize that often we rate the power of words by who has the final word, that has nothing to do with having our say. Having our say doesn't always equate into words. And words certainly don't equate into getting things done. If we're not careful, words become lip service. You know--the it's a great idea and I'm all for it when in reality you don't think it has a snowball's chance in hell of happening. Lip service is the flapping of the gums and not saying much, if anything. So, when I realize that after weeks or months of saying the words, I find that we do nothing about them, I think--what a waste of time and effort and yes, words. Wouldn't it have been simpler to say, "Hmmmm. Great idea, but no thanks." Then I can just go do something else. No, that'd be too easy.
     So, here I am, pissed off again and wondering what's the use? Then it hits me--smack between the eyes. You know why getting pissed off isn't a sin. 'Cuz it's even worst than a sin. It's a waste of time. I don't mean that one shouldn't get angry. When the indicators start pulsating that there is a reason for your growing indignation, you should pay very careful attention. Anger is a barometer of sorts, measuring the pressure that builds up inside of us as human beings and when blown--watch out because you may be the casualty. That becomes a crisis of self and negates most of the good that was being done because in the end you blew and they didn't. At the first sign of anger, my first rule is to "duck" 'cuz something is being hurled at you. My next rule is to "stop and plan." Don't react. Only when I misjudge my barometer indicators do I find myself in difficult-to-fix situations--I've blown my stack! Then I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to get back on track. Enough!
     Understanding the power of our words can be a wonderful adventure.
     "Word?"
     "Yeah! Word."
     "So, what's the plan?"
     "I'm gonna collect the words of the people?"
     "No? Word?"
     "Word."
     "Then what?"
     "Then I'm gonna help them become the final say!"
     "Word up!"
     "You got it!"

P.K. McCary is fast-becoming the peacemaker with an attitude. Word!

The Insane World of Peacemaking

2009-12-13T12:57:00.000-08:00

Someone sent this to me recently.

"All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood."

--Article 1 of the Human Rights Charter of the United Nations

Heath is my crazy friend from my favorite place in the world at Copy dot com. Although Heath is now an East Coast crazy person, for a while here in Texas, he and I had some of the best philosophical discussions about the world and its problems. Heath knows of my desire to be a peacemaker, so when he saw this quote he sent it to me with this line: "I saw this and it floored me and reminded me of you at the same time." Heath knows me well. First, he knows that I'm gonna take issue with the word 'brotherhood' since I'm part of the 'sisterhood," and then he knows that while I want to believe this, I've always told my children that life ain't fair or equal. Heath also knows that I'll see the irony of this quote and he knows that I want to believe it and even do my part in trying to create it, but the reality of it all is that it ain't necessarily so.
You see, while I call my friend crazy, I'm as crazy as Heath is, only I'm just now realizing it. It's a strange feeling, knowing that my ideas are a little far fetched and almost impossible to realize, but here I am, doing my best to be a peacemaker anyway. But, I've decided to embrace my insanity. So here it is ...

... building cultures of peace in as many ways as I can even though there are those who tell me that it is a futile attempt to change the base nature of human beings who are prone to violence. I, however, think we can change that, so I struggle with beliefs like "right makes might," when everyone (okay, not everyone, but a LOT of people) tells me the reality of it is ... that might makes right. I'm crazy enough to believe that the good guy always win, like in the movies, then have to swallow my disappointment when the good guys lose. Of course, I have the insane notion that people who are in leadership should do what is right and still find myself remarkably disappointed that not everyone in power is right or does what's right. The biggest struggle, however, is with other peacemakers because we know that while building a culture of peace is a wonderful concept, there are so many definitions of what that means as to boggle the mind. An insane mind, then, stays boggled! But, we take our licks and keep on ticking. Somehow I think that by embracing my craziness, I can now fully commit myself to the insane notion that peace is possible.
So, I'm recruiting crazy peacemakers. This won't be an organized society of crazy peacemakers because crazy people are not organized in the way of the sane world. There will be no hierarchical structure. That's too confining. We won't have any by-laws because crazy people make it up as they go along. Of course I realize that there is no way that we can all agree on how peace is possible, but here's the chance to try out those crazy ideas of peacemaking on the rest of the world. I don't want to hear the ideas that you're only thinking about. If you're not attempting the idea, you're not crazy enough to be a member. We won't be giving out identification cards either because insanity is a personal experience.
This is a win-win situation (another one of those insane notions) because you get to try out your ideas and not get the sign (you know, where you point your finger at your temple, while twirling your finger around to indicate that the person is crazy) because we're as crazy as you are. Crazy enough to try even when others tell you how impossible it is. So, while I won't be creating a bureacratic structure for us to join, I will create the one mission statement that every crazy person has to embrace ...

"I believe that my goal is to take the impossibility of peace so that it becomes possible, the possibility of peace so that it becomes probable and the probability of peace, so that peace is inevitable."

--P.K. McCary

Let's go make crazy peace!